: 


if-'--     *" 


BECKY'S  LEAP.     Page  89. 


THE  MAIDENUOOD    SERIES. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    TOMBOY. 


BY 


GEORGE    M.   BAKER? 

AUTHOR   OF  "AMATEUR   DRAMAS,"  "  DRA^TfTG -B^9M 
"SOCIAL  STAGE,"  "  MIHj.0  STAGE," 
ETC.,  ETC.  "*,     C 


ILLUSTRATED. 


BOSTON: 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS. 

NEW  YORK: 
LEE,  SHEPARD  AND  DILLINGHAM. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874, 

Br  GEORGE   M.  BAKER, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington, 


TO 


MRS.  RACHEL  E.  BOLES, 

A  PATIENT   INVALID,    WHO   WOULD   HAVE   ME   BELIEVE 

THAT    A    FEW     OP     HER    WEARY    HOURS     HAVE 

BEEN   LIGHTENED   BY  THE   READING  OF 

"  THE    STORY   OF   A   TOMBOY," 


t(jw  gook, 


IN   REMEMBRANCE    OF   A   LONG   FRIENDSHIP, 

AND   IN    GRATITUDE   FOR   MANY 

KIND   ACTS. 


961690 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

STOLEN  SWEETS 7 


CHAPTER  II. 
FALLEN  FORTUNES 22 

CHAPTER  III. 
MRS.  THOMPSON'S  CROSS 38 

CHAPTER  IV. 
BECKY  SLEEPER'S  CHARITY 56 

CHAPTER  V. 
IN  SCHOOL  AND  OUT 73 

CHAPTER  VI. 
BECKY'S  LAST  FROLIC 90 

CHAPTER  VII. 

MRS.  THOMPSON  BISOBEYS  ORDERS 104 

5 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
BECKY'S  NEW  BIRTH 122 

CHAPTER  IX. 
TEDDY  SLEEPEB  DINES  OUT 145 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  POOR  OLD  MAID 161 

CHAPTER  XI. 
BECKY  BEARDS  THE  LION  IN  HIS  DEN 176 

CHAPTER  XII. 
AMONG  THE  WOODPECKERS 197 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
DELIA  SLEEPER'S  SHIP  COMES  IN 215 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Two  YEARS  AFTER 231 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE, 


CHAPTER    I. 

STOLEN  SWEETS. 

BOUNCERS,  Teddy !    the  roundest  and 
the  rosiest.     Drop  them,  quick !     My 
apron's  all  ready  for  the  darlings." 
"It's   very  well  to   say  drop   them;     but   it's 
just  as  much  as  I  can  do  to   keep   from  falling 
myself.      Don't    you    see   I'm   holding   on   with 
both  hands?" 

"  What  a  fuss  you  do  make !  Come  down, 
and  let  me  try.  I  never  saw  a  tree  yet  big 
enough  to  scare  me." 

"Who's  scart,  Becky  Sleeper?  I  ain't  —  not 
by  a  long  chalk.  When  a  feller's  holdin'  on 
with  both  hands,  he  can't  be  expected  to  pick 
very  quick  —  can  he  ?  " 

7 


8  RUNNING   TO   WASTE. 

"  Wind  your  arm  round  that  branch  over  your 
head.  There  ;.ixoAv  you're  all  right,  Teddy." 

"  That's  so.  ;  What,  a  hand  you  are  to  con 
trive  I  Now 'look  sharp  —  they're  coming!" 

Becky  Sleeper,  in  imitation  of  famed  "  Hump- 
ty  Durnpty,"  sat  upon  a  wall,  where  she  had  no 
business  to  be,  for  the  wall  was  the  boundary 
of  Captain  Thompson's  orchard.  But  there  she 
sat,  her  feet  dangling,  her  hair  flying,  and  her 
hands  holding  her  apron  by  its  corners,  intent 
on  catching  the  apples  which  her  brother  was 
plucking  from  the  tree  above  her  head. 

An  active,  wide-awake  little  body  was  the 
girl  who  was  acting  as  accessory  to  the  crime — 
a  very  common  one  —  of  robbing  an  orchard. 
Every  movement  of  her  sprightly  figure  belied 
the  family  name.  Perched  upon  the  wall,  that 
cool  October  morning,  she  might  have  sat  as  a 
model  for  the  Spirit  of  Mischief.  A  plump, 
round,  rosy  face,  with  a  color  in  the  cheeks  that 
rivaled  in  brightness  the  coveted  fruit  above 
her,  blue  eyes  full  of  laughter,  a  pretty  mouth, 
with  dissolving  views  of  flashing  teeth,  teasing 
smiles,  and  a  tongue  never  at  rest;  a  queer 
little  pug  nose,  that  had  a  habit  of  twitching  a 
mirthful  accompaniment  to  the  merriment  of 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  9 

eyes  and  mouth,  a  profusion  of  light  hair,  tossed 
to  and  fro  by  the  quick  motions  of  the  head, — 
all  these  combined  to  make  a  head-piece  which 
would  have  delighted  an  artist,  brightened  as  it 
was  by  a  few  straggling  rays  of  sunshine,  that 
darted  through  convenient  openings  in  the  mass 
of  foliage  above  her  head. 

Miss  Becky's  costume,  however,  did  not  fur 
nish  a  fitting  finish  to  her  face  and  figure,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  seemed  much  the  worse  for 
wear.  A  high-neck,  blue-check  apron  showed 
unmistakable  signs  of  familiarity  with  grape  and 
berry  juices  ;  the  rusty  brown  dress  which  peeped 
out  beneath  it  was  plentifully  "  sown  with 
tares,"  and  had  a  rough  fringe  at  the  bottom 
never  placed  there  by  the  dress-maker;  a  pair 
of  stockings,  once  white,  had  the  appearance  of 
having  recently  been  dyed  in  a  mud-puddle,  and 
a  pair  of  stringless  boots,  which  completed  her 
attire,  were  only  prevented  from  dropping  off  by 
an  elevation  of  the  toes. 

With  her  diminutive  figure,  her  mischievous 
face,  and  her  eager  interest  in  the  apple  raid, 
she  might  have  been  taken  for  a  thoughtless, 
giddy  child.  No  stranger  would  have  dreamed 
she  was  a  maiden  with  an  undoubted  right  to 
affix  to  her  name,  age  sixteen. 


10  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Her  companion  was  a  year  younger,  but  greatly 
her  superior  in  weight  and  measure,  not  much 
taller,  but  remarkably  round  at  the  waist  and 
plentifully  supplied  with  flesh.  He  lacked  the 
activity  of  his  sister,  but  was  ambitious  to  emu 
late  her  achievements,  and  to  that  end  panted 
and  puffed  with  remarkable  vigor. 

Becky  was  an  adept  in  all  boyish  sports.  She 
could  climb  a  tree  with  the  activity  of  a  squirrel, 
ride  a  horse  without  saddle  or  bridle,  pull  a 
boat  against  the  swift  current  of  the  river,  "  fol 
low  my  leader"  on  the  roughest  trail,  take  a 
hand  at  base  ball,  play  cricket,  and  was  consid 
ered  a  valuable  acquisition  to  either  side  in  a 
game  of  football. 

Teddy  admired  the  vigor  of  his  sister,  was 
not  jealous  of  her  superior  abilities,  although  he 
was  unlucky  in  his  pursuit  of  manly  sports.  He 
had  to  be  helped  up  a  tree,  and  very  often  lay 
at  the  foot,  when  the  helper  thought  he  had 
successfully  accomplished  his  task.  Horses  gen 
erally  dropped  him  when  he  attempted  to  ride ; 
he  always  "  caught  crabs  "  in  boats ;  was  a  "  muf- 
fer"  at  base  ball,  and  in  everybody's  way  in  all 
sorts  of  games. 

These  two  were   companions   in   roguery,    and 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  \\ 

were  a  terror  to  all  respectable  people  in  Clev 
erly  who  possessed  orchards  which  they  valued 
highly,  or  melon  patches  which  they  watched 
with  anxious  care  ;  for,  no  matter  how  high  the 
value,  or  how  strict  the  watch,  this  pair  of  ma 
rauders  had  excellent  taste  in  selection,  and 
managed  to  appropriate  the  choicest  and  best 
without  leave  or  license. 

Cleverly  is  a  very  staid,  respectable,  triangu 
lar  township  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  its  southern, 
or  sea  line  about  six  miles  in  length,  forming 
the  base  of  the  triangle,  with  a  small  village  — 
Foxtown  —  at  it's  eastern  point,  and  a  somewhat 
more  pretentious  town  —  Geeseville  —  at  its  west 
ern  point.  From  these  two  places  the  division 
lines  ran,  one  north-east,  the  other  north-west, 
meeting  on  Rogue's  River,  where  a  bridge  makes 
the  apex  of  the  triangle.  The  roads,  however, 
do  not  traverse  these  boundary  lines.  There  is 
a  straight  road  from  Foxtown  to  Geeseville, 
passing  over  a  bridge  which  spans  the  river 
where  it  empties  into  the  harbor.  South  of  this 
highway  is  known  as  the  fore  side,  and  here  may 
be  found  Captain  Thompson's  shipyard,  a  short, 
chunky  wharf,  where  occasionally  a  packet  lies, 
and  a  blacksmith's  shop. 


12  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

A  few  rods  west  of  the  river  another  road 
breaks  from  the  highway  and  goes  straight  north. 
This  is  the  main  street  of  Cleverly.  Climbing  a 
hill  from  the  fore  side,  the  traveller,  on  entering 
this  street,  will  find  on  the  left  a  tailor's  shop, 
a  country  store,  the  post-office,  then  a  dozen 
houses,  white,  attractive,  and  roomy.  On  the 
right,  a  row  of  neat  and  tidy  houses,  four  in 
number;  then  a  carpenter's  shop,  the  church,  a 
small  school-house,  a  more  expansive  "academy," 
several  fine  dwellings,  then  a  long  hill,  at  the 
foot  of  which  is  a  brick-yard,  and,  a  few  rods 
farther,  another  settlement  known  as  the  "  Cor 
ner."  The  distance  between  the  fore  side  and 
the  Corner  is  about  a  mile,  and  between  these 
two  points  may  be  found  the  wealth,  culture, 
and  respectability  of  the  township. 

There  is  abundance  of  thrift,  with  very  little 
"brag"  about  Cleverly.  Rogue's  River  turns  a 
paper  mill,  a  woollen  mill,  and  a  nail  factory. 
Every  season  a  vessel  is  launched  from  the  ship 
yard,  and  every  winter  the  academy  is  well  filled 
with  students;  every  Friday  night,  winter  and 
summer,  the  vestry  of  the  church  is  crowded 
with  an  attentive  audience,  and  every  Sunday 
the  church  is  surrounded  with  horses  and  vehi- 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  13 

cles  of  all  sizes,  varieties,  and  conditions  ;  yet  the 
quiet  of  the  place  seems  never  broken.  There  is 
much  beauty,  with  little  attempt  at  display, 
about  the  town.  Trees  line  the  street,  vines 
climb  about  the  houses,  shrubs  peep  out  at  the 
palings,  and  flowers  bloom  everywhere  without 
any  seeming  special  assistance  from  the  inhabi 
tants. 

There  is  very  little  change  in  the  Cleverly  of 
to-day  from  the  Cleverly  of  twenty  years  ago. 
Then  Captain  Thompson's  house  stood  directly 
opposite  the  church,  a  large,  square,  two-story 
front,  as  grand  as  any  in  the  place.  At  the 
rear,  a  lower  building,  used  as  a  kitchen,  ran 
out  to  one  still  lower,  used  as  a  wood-shed ; 
this,  in  turn,  stretched  out  to  another  building, 
used  as  a  carriage-house,  while  the  barn,  of 
larger  proportions,  swung  at  the  end  of  all ;  so 
that,  approaching  it  from  the  side,  the  structure 
had  the  appearance  of  a  kite  with  a  very  long 
tail  to  it.  At  the  end  of  the  stable  was  the  kitch 
en  garden  ;  beyond  that,  the  orchard,  and  on  the 
stone  wall  which  separates  it  from  the  lane, 
which  in  its  turn  separates  the  whole  place  from 
the  woods,  patiently  sits  Miss  Becky  during  this 
long  description. 

"  Quick,    Teddy !     Three    more    will    make  a 


14  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

dozen ;  and  that's  as  many  as  I  can  hold,  they're 
such  whoppers.  O,  dear  !  my  arms  ache  now," 
said  Becky,  after  Teddy  had  employed  more 
time  than  seemed  necessary  in  plucking  the 
captain's  mammoth  Baldwins. 

"Don't  ache  any  more  than  mine  do,  I 
guess,"  grumbled  Teddy ;  "  and  I'm  all  cramped 
up,  too.  Don't  believe  I'll  ever  git  down 
agin." 

"O,  yes,  you  will  Teddy.  You're  famous  for 
quick  descents,  you  know.  You  always  come 
down  quicker  than  you  go  up ;  and  such  grace 
ful  somersets  as  you  do  make  !  It's  better  than 
the  circus,  any  time,  to  see  you ;  "  and  a  merry 
peal  of  laughter  broke  from  Miss  Becky's  lips. 

44 Becky,  Becky!  don't  do  that!"  cried  Ted 
dy;  "  they'll  hear  you  up  at  the  house.  I 
wouldn't  have  Cap'n  Thompson  catch  me  in 
this  tree  for  a  good  deal,  I  tell  you.  He's 
promised  me  a  whaling  if  he  ever  catches  me 
on  his  place." 

"  Don't  be  scart,  Teddy.  He  won't  catch 
this  time.  I  can  see  the  house,  and 
there  is  not  a  soul  stirring;  and,  besides,  the 
cap'n's  not  at  home." 

"I    tell    you,    Becky,    somebody's    comin'.     I 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  15 

can  feel  it  in  my  bones.  I'm  comin'  down ;  " 
and  Teddy  made  a  frantic  effort  to  free  himself 
from  the  crotch  of  the  tree,  into  which  he  was 
snugly  fitted. 

"Not  until  you  make  up  the  dozen,  Teddy. 
Don't  be  a  goose!  I  haven't  watched  this  tree 
a  week  for  nothin'.  Cap'n  Thompson's  gone  to 
the  ship-yard.  I  saw  him  ride  off  an  hour  ago 
on  '  Uncle  Ned ; '  and  he  never  gets  back  till 
dinner  time  when  he  goes  there." 

4 'Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,  Tomboy!" 
With  a  slight  scream,  Becky  turned  her  eyes 
from  the  camp  of  the  enemy  to  the  lane.  Not 
ten  feet  from  her  stood  a  white  horse,  and  on 
his  back  sat  the  dreaded  enemy — Captain 
Thompson.  A  lively  trembling  of  the  branches 
overhead  gave  evidence  that  another  party  was 
aware  of  the  startling  interruption  to  a  projected 
fruit  banquet. 

.Becky  looked  at  the  captain.  He  had  a 
very  red  face  ;  he  seemed  to  be  in  a  towering 
passion,  and  was,  evidently,  searching  his  short, 
stout  body  for  a  tone  deep  and  terrible  enough 
with  which  to  continue  the  conversation.  She 
looked  at  him  with  a  smile  on  her  face ;  but, 
at  the  flash  of  his  angry  eyes,  dropped  hers  to 


16  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

the  apron  which  contained  the  proofs  of  guilt, 
then  stole  a  glance  at  her  trembling  accomplice, 
straightened  her  little  body,  and  looked  defiantly 
at  the  horseman. 

"  So,  Tomboy,  I  have  caught  you  in  the  act 
—  have  I?"  thundered  the  captain. 

"  Yes,  cap'n,  you  certainly  have,  this  time, 
and  no  mistake,"  saucily  answered  the  tomboy. 
"  S'pose  we've  got  to  catch  it  now.  What's 
the  penalty?  Going  to  put  us  in  the  pound,  or 
lock  us  up  in  the  barn  ?  " 

4 'Neither,  Miss  Impudence,"  thundered  the 
captain.  "  I'll  horsewhip  you  both.  Here,  you, 
Master  Ned,  come  out  of  that  tree,  quick ! 
D'ye  hear  ?  " 

That  the  delinquent  did  hear,  and  that  he 
was  inclined  to  obey,  was  made  manifest  by  a 
rustling  among  the  leaves,  and  the  dull  thud  of 
a  heavy  body  as  it  struck  the  ground,  for  Master 
Teddy,  terrified  at  the  angry  voice  of  the  cap 
tain,  had  let  go,  and  landed  in  a  heap  outside 
the  wall. 

"Run,  Teddy,  run!  Don't  let  him  catch 
you ! "  cried  Becky,  in  excitement,  dropping  her 
apron. 

The  round  and  rosy  spoils,    being    freed,   fol- 


RUNNING   TO    WASTE.  17 

lowed  the  law  of  gravitation,  and  plumped  one 
after  another  on  to  the  head  of  the  prostrate 
Teddy,  who  was  groaning  and  rubbing  his 
elbows,  with  a  very  lugubrious  face. 

"  If  you  stir  a  step,  you  imp  of  mischief,  I'll 
break  every  bone  in  your  body,"  cried  the  cap 
tain,  hastily  dismounting,  and  approaching  Ted 
dy,  with  a  long  riding- whip  in  his  hand. 

"  Don't  you  touch  my  brother  !  Don't  you 
dare  to  touch  my  brother  !  "  cried  Becky  from 
her  perch.  "It's  a  shame  to  make  such  a  fuss 
about  a  few  apples  !  " 

"  It's  a  great  shame  that  a  girl  of  your  age 
should  be  caught  stealing  apples,"  replied  the 
captain. 

"  'Tain't  my  fault.  We  shouldn't  have  been 
caught  if  you'd  only  staid  at  the  yard." 

The  captain  almost  smiled  ;  the  audacity  of 
the  young  depredator's  attempt  to  shift  the  re 
sponsibility  of  the  theft  upon  him,  really  tickled 
him.  Nevertheless,  he  approached  Teddy,  who, 
having  rubbed  himself  comfortable,  now  sat 
calmly  awaiting  his  fate. 

"  Now,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say  for  your 
self  ?  Haven't  I  told  you  to  keep  off  my  place  ? 
Haven't  I  given  you  sufficient  warning  ?  Haven't 
2 


18  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

I  promised  you  a  thrashing  if  I  caught  you 
liere  —  hey?"  roared  the  captain. 

"  Yes,  cap'n,  you  did.  But  I  couldn't  help 
it.  1  —  I  —  I  didn't  want  the  apples;  b  —  b — 
but  I  wanted  to  climb  the  tree  for  fun  ;  its  such 
a  hard  climb,  and — and—  '  stammered  Teddy, 
eyeing  the  whip. 

"Don't  lie,  you  imp.  There's  my  apples  all 
round  you.  You  shall  sweat  for  this,  I  promise 
you.  Off  with  your  jacket,  quick  !  D'ye  hear  ?'* 

"  Don't  strike  him,  cap'n  ;  please  don't.  He's 
not  to  blame ;  "  and  Becky  plunged  from  the 
wall,  and  stood  between  the  captain  and  her 
brother.  "He  didn't  want  the  apples  —  indeed, 
he  didn't.  He  don't  like  apples — do  you,  Ted 
dy?" 

Teddy  shook  his  head  energetically,  with  a 
contemptuous  look  at  the  fruit. 

"I  helped  him  up  the  tree,  and  I'm  to  blame 
for  it  all.  You  oughtn't  to  strike  a  boy  for 
doing  all  he  can  to  please  his  sister.  If  you 
must  whip  somebody,  take  me." 

"Stand  out  of  the  way,  Tomboy.  Your  time 
will  come  soon  enough — never  fear."  And  he 
pushed  her  from  the  path.  "Off  with  that  jacket. 
D'ye  hear?" 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  19 

Teddy  coolly  unbuttoned  his  jacket,  and  threw 
it  on  the  grass. 

"Don't  tease  him,  Becky.  I'm  not  afraid  of 
his  whip.  If  it's  any  fun  for  him,  let  him  lay 
on.  I  guess  I  can  stand  it  as  long  as  he  can;" 
and  Teddy  looked  defiantly  at  his  adversary. 

Becky  ran  to  her  brother,  and  threw  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  to  shield  him  from  the  whip. 

"  He  shan't  strike  you,  Teddy.  It's  all  my 
fault.  He  shan't  touch  you." 

Captain  Thompson  was  an  obstinate  man. 
When  he  made  up  his  mind  to  the  doing  of  an 
act,  nothing  could  stand  in  his  way.  Perhaps 
this  accounted  for  the  coolness  of  Teddy  in  the 
trying  situation  in  which  he  was  placed,  who, 
remembering  his  promise,  knew  it  must  be  ful 
filled,  and  so  offered  no  resistance. 

"  Don't,  Becky.  D'ye  want  to  smother  a  fel 
ler?  Don't  be  a  ninny.  It's  got  to  come.  Go 
home  —  do." 

"I  won't.  He  shall  kill  me  before  he  strikes 
you." 

Becky's  devotion  was  blighted  in  an  instant, 
for  the  angry  man  seized  her  by  the  arm  and 
flung  her  across  the  lane.  She  fell  to  the 
ground  unhurt,  for  the  grass  was  thick  and  soft. 


20  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"I'll  teach  you  to  meddle.  Don't  come  near 
me  till  I've  done  with  him.  Mind  that." 

Becky  sprang  to  her  feet,  fire  flashing  from 
her  eyes.  She  was  as  angry  now  as  her  tor 
mentor.  She  picked  up  a  stone,  and  despite  his 
warning,  approached  the  captain.  He  should 
not  strike  her  brother,  she  looked  at  the  house  ; 
no  one  in  sight.  Down  the  lane ;  no  one  —  yes, 
there  stood  Uncle  Ned,  cropping  the  grass,  un 
mindful  of  the  group.  Ah,  the  horse  !  There 
was  a  chance  yet  to  save  her  brother. 

"Now,  you  scamp,  I'll  teach  you  to  rob 
orchards !  "  and  the  whip  was  raised. 

Spry  as  a  cat,  Becky  was  at  the  captain's 
back  in  an  instant.  She  jumped  and  caught  the 
whip  from  his  hand,  then  ran  for  the  horse. 
The  captain  quickly  turned  ;  but  too  late.  Becky 
sprang  to  the  saddle,  caught  up  the  rein,  lashed 
the  horse,  turned,  and  shouted,  "  Good  by, 
Teddy !  Good  by,  cap'n  !  "  and  galloped  down 
the  lane. 

"  Come  back,  come  back,  you  imp  of  mis 
chief!  Come  back,"  I  say,  shouted  the  captain, 
running  after  her. 

44  Some  other  time,  cap'n ;  can't  stop  now. 
Good  by  ;  "  and  the  saucy  girl  turned,  waved  her 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  21 

hand  to  the  maddened  and  baffled  owner  of 
the  Baldwins,  plied  the  whip  briskly,  and  was 
out  of  sight. 

The  captain,  with  a  muttered  "  Hang  it !  "  — . 
which  was  the  extent  of  his  swearing,  for  he 
was  a  deacon, — followed  at  as  rapid  a  pace  as 
he  could  command,  leaving  Teddy  solitary  and 
alone. 

The  fat  boy  looked  after  his  persecutor  a 
moment,  with  a  smile  upon  his  face,  then  rose 
picked  up  his  jacket,  put  it  on,  buttoned  it  at 
the  bottom,  then  coolly  picked  up  the  trophies 
of  victory  tucked  them  into  his  jacket  and  his 
pockets,  crossed  the  lane,  crept  through  a  hedge, 
and  disappeared. 


22 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 


CHAPTER    II. 

FALLEN    FORTUNES. 

STERN  chase  is  a  long  chase;"  so, 
leaving  Captain  Thompson  in  pur 
suit  of  the  fugitive,  we  will  take  the 
liberty  of  passing  through  his  premises  to  the 
main  street.  At  the  left  of  the  church,  oppo 
site  his  house,  another  road  ran  down  a  steep 
hill,  crossed  Rogue's  River,  by  a  bridge,  ran  up 
another  hill,  and  wound  round  into  the  Fox- 
town  road.  At  the  top  of  the  second  hill  stood 
a  small  brown  house,  by  no  means  attractive  in 
appearance,  being  destitute  of  paint,  climbing 
vine,  flowers,  or  other  ornamentation.  It  had 
not  even  the  virtue  of  neatness  to  recom 
mend  it.  The  gate  was  off  its  hinges,  and  lay 
in  the  road.  A  crazy  barn  close  by  had  a  pitch 
towards  the  river,  as  though  from  sheer  weak 
ness  it  was  inclined  to  lie  down  for  rest,  while 
the  scanty  patch  of  cabbages  and  beets,  the 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  23 

potato  hills,  few  and  far  between,  and  the  rick 
ety  bean-poles,  all  had  a  starved  and  neglected 
appearance. 

This  was  known  as  the  "  Sleeper  Place,"  be 
ing  occupied  by  Mrs.  Sleeper  and  the  young 
people,  Rebecca  and  Edward,  better  known  as 
Becky  and  Teddy.  Inside,  the  house  was  not 
much  more  attractive  than  the  outside.  On  the 
lower  floor  were  four  rooms,  separated  by  the 
entry,  from  which  a  flight  of  stairs,  hidden  by  a 
door,  led  to  the  garret  above.  On  one  side  was 
a  kitchen,  with  a  door  leading  into  Mrs.  Sleep 
er's  bed-room  at  the  back.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  sitting-room,  with  a  door  leading  to 
a  bed-room  back  of  that,  known  as  Becky's 
room.  Teddy's  quarters  were  above,  under  the 
roof.  The  house  was  scantily  furnished  with 
old-fashioned  furniture  and  home-made  carpets, 
all  of  which  had  seen  their  best  many  years  be 
fore,  and  now  showed  veteran  scars  of  long 
service. 

In  the  kitchen  were  two  females  —  Mrs.  Sleeper 
and  Hulda  Prime.  Mrs.  Sleeper  was  a  small, 
slender  woman,  with  a  face  from  which  much 
beauty  had  faded  out,  a  face  which  bore  but 
one  expression  at  all  times  —  that  of  anxious 


24  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

expectation.  All  else  had  died  out  five  years 
before.  Then  she  was  a  bright,  cheerful,  active 
wife,  merrily  singing  over  her  household  cares. 
Now  she  was  waiting,  for  time  to  determine 
whether  she  was  a  wife  or  a  widow. 

In  '49,  when  the  California  gold  fever  attacked 
so  many  New  England  towns,  Captain  Cyrus 
Sleeper  was  returning  from  the  West  Indies 
with  a  cargo  of  sugar  and  molasses,  in  the  new 
ship  "  Bounding  Billow,"  the  joint  property  of 
himself  and  Captain  Paul  Thompson.  Touching 
at  Havana,  he  was  made  acquainted  with  the 
startling  news  of  gold  discoveries;  and,  always 
impetuous,  at  once  turned  the  bow  of  his  ship 
towards  California. 

A  year  passed,  and  Captain  Thompson  also 
received  startling  news.  His  runaway  partner 
had  reached  California,  disposed  of  his  cargo  at 
fabulous  prices,  and  sent  the  ship  home  in  charge 
of  his  mate,  and  had  started  for  the  mines.  To 
his  partner  he  remitted  the  whole  amount  received 
for  his  cargo, —  enough  to  build  two  ships  like 
the  Bounding  Billow, —  one  half  of  which,  being 
his  own,  was  to  be  held  by  his  partner  for  the 
support  of  his  family  until  his  return. 

The  captain  was   astounded.     The   conduct   of 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  26 

his  partner  was  so  strange,  he  believed  he  must 
have  lost  his  reason,  and  never  expected  to  heai 
any  intelligence  of  him  again.  Mrs.  Sleeper  also 
received  a  message  from  her  eccentric  husband, 
full  of  glowing  descriptions  of  quick  fortunes 
made  in  El  Dorado,  hopes  of  speedy  return,  and 
bright  pictures  of  the  high  life  they  would  lead 
when  "  his  ship  came  in."  Since  that  time 
nothing  had  been  heard  of  Captain  Cyrus  Sleeper 
or  his  fortunes. 

The  ship  was  fitted  for  a  second  voyage  to 
the  West  Indies,  Mrs.  Sleeper,  by  Thompson's 
advice,  going  shares  with  him  in  the  venture. 
But  it  proved  disastrous.  The  ship  was  wrecked 
on  her  return,  and  Mrs.  Sleeper  found  herself 
obliged  to  live  on  a  very  small  income.  Of  a 
very  romantic  nature,  her  sailor  husband  always 
a  hero  in  her  eyes,  for  a  little  while  she  had 
high  hopes  of  his  quick  return  with  an  ample 
fortune,  and  chatted  gaily  of  the  good  time 
coming  "  when  her  ship  came  in."  But  as  time 
passed,  and  no  message  came  from  over  the  sea, 
the  smile  forsook  her  lips,  the  brightness  her 
cheek,  and  the  hope-light  of  her  eyes  changed 
to  an  eager,  searching  glance,  that  told  of  an 
unquiet  mind  and  an  aching,  breaking  heart. 


26  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

She  went  about  her  household  duties,  cooked, 
scrubbed,  and  mended,  quietly  and  silently,  but 
took  no  pride  in  her  home,  no  comfort  in  her 
children.  The  house  soon  showed  evidences  of 
neglect.  The  children,  without  a  mother's  sym 
pathy  and  guidance,  were  rapidly  running  to 
waste. 

Just  when  the  money  began  to  give  out, 
Hulda  Prime  "  came  to  help."  Hulda  was  a 
distant  relative  of  Cyrus  Sleeper,  by  her  own 
showing,  as  she  was  a  distant  relative  of  almost 
everybody  in  Cleverly.  She  was  somewhere  be 
tween  forty  and  sixty:  it  was  hard  telling  her 
age.  It  could  not  be  told  by  her  hair,  for  she 
had  none;  nor  yet  by  her  teeth,  for  they  were 
false,  or  her  cheeks,  for  they  were  always  bright, 
and  had  a  natural  color  which  some  people  were 
wicked  enough  to  say  was  not  natural.  She  was 
long-favored,  long  and  lean  in  body,  had  a  very 
long  face,  long  nose,  and  a  long  chin.  She  wore 
a  "front,"  with  two  auburn  ringlets  dangling  at 
either  end,  a  very  tall  white  cap,  carried  her 
self  very  erect,  and  had  altogether  a  solemn  and 
serious  demeanor.  She  left  a  "relative"  to 
come  and  help  "dear  Delia  in  her  troubles;" 
though  in  what  her  help  consisted  was  a  puzzle 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  27 

which  the  good  people  of  Cleverly  had  never 
been  able  to  solve.  She  got  her  living  by  "  help 
ing."  She  had  no  money,  but  she  had  a  large 
stock  of  complaints,  so  many,  that  they  might 
have  been  calendared  thus :  Monday,  rheuma 
tism  ;  Tuesday,  cancer ;  Wednesday,  dyspepsia  ; 
Thursday,  heart  disease ;  Friday,  lumbago ;  Sat 
urday,  "spine;"  Sunday,  neuralgia.  Or  to  vary 
the  monotony,  she  would  start  off  Monday  with 
"cancer,"  or  some  other  disease;  but  the  week 
would  contain  the  whole  programme.  She  was 
very  regular  in  her  habits  —  of  complaining,  and 
was  always  taken  bad  just  when  she  might  be 
of  assistance. 

This  day  she  was  crouched  by  the  fire,  her 
head  tied  up  in  a  towel,  her  body  slowly  rock 
ing  to  and  fro.  It  was  her  neuralgia  day. 

Mrs.  Sleeper  stood  at  her  wash-tub  near  the 
window,  her  hands  busy  in  the  suds,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  distant  waters  of  the  bay,  her 
thoughts  away  with  the  ship  that  never  came  in. 
So  absorbed  was  she  in  her  "  waiting  "  dream, 
that  she  did  not  see  Captain  Thompson,  who 
for  the  last  ten  minutes  had  been  puffing  up  the 
hill  in  sight  of  the  window;  was  not  aware  of 
his  approach  until  he  stood  in  the  kitchen  door- 


28  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

way,  with  both  hands  braced  against  the  sides, 
breathing  very  hard. 

"  So,  so!  Pur  —  pur  —  purty  capers  those 
young  ones  of  yours  are  cutting  up,  Delia 
Sleeper!" 

Mrs.  Sleeper  turned  with  a  start ;  Aunt  Hulda 
straightened  up  with  a  groan. 

"  Do  you  mean  Rebecca  and  Edward,  captain  ? 
Have  they  been  making  any  trouble  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Sleeper,  with  the  faintest  sign  of  interest  in  her 
voice. 

"  Trouble,  trouble  !  "  shouted  the  captain,  so 
loud  that  Aunt  Hulda  gave  a  groan,  and  held 
her  head  very  hard ;  "  did  they  ever  make  any 
thing  else  ?  Ain't  they  the  pests  of  the  town  ? 
Who  or  what  is  safe  when  they  are  about?  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  Delia,  I'm  a  patient  man,  a 
very  patient  man.  I've  endured  this  sort  of 
thing  just  as  long  as  I  mean  to.  I  tell  you 
something's  got  to  be  done."  And  the  captain 
looked  very  red,  very  angry,  and  very  deter 
mined. 

"I'm  sure  I  try  to  keep  the  children  out  of 
mischief,"  faltered  Mrs.  Sleeper. 

"No,  you  don't.  That's  just  what's  the  mat 
ter.  You've  no  control  over  them.  You  don't 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  29 

want  to  control  them.  You  just  let  them  loose 
in  the  town,  like  a  couple  of  wildcats,  seeking 
whom  they  may  devour.  What's  the  conse 
quence  ?  Look  at  Brown's  melon  patch !  He 
couldn't  find  a  sound  melon  there.  Look  at  my 
orchard  !  Despoiled  by  those  barbarians  !  Here's 
a  sample.  To-day  I  caught  them  at  one  of  my 
trees,  loaded  with  plunder;  caught  them  in  the 
act !  " 

"  O,  captain!  you  did  not  punish  them!" 

"  Punish  eels !  No ;  they  were  too  sharp  for 
me.  One  ran  off  with  my  horse,  and  a  purty  chase 
I've  had  for  nothing.  The  other  marched  away 
with  my  fruit.  But  I  will  punish  them ;  be 
sure  of  that.  Now,  Delia,  this  thing  must  be 
stopped  ;  it  shall  be  stopped.  I'm  a  man  of  my 
word,  and  when  I  say  a  thing's  to  be  done,  it 
is  done." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  willing  to  do  anything  I  can 
to  keep  them  orderly,"  began  Mrs.  Sleeper. 

"Now  what's  the  use  of  your  talking  so? 
You  know  you're  not  willing  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind,  You're  all  bound  up  in  your  sorrows. 
You  won't  think  of  the  matter  again  when  I'm 
gone  —  you  know  you  won't.  If  you  cared  for 
their  bringing  up,  you'd  have  that  boy  at  school, 


SO  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

instead  of  letting  him  fatten  on  other  folks's 
property,  and  bring  that  girl  up  to  work,  in 
stead  of  lettin'  her  go  galloping  all  over  creation 
on  other  folks's  horses.  I  tell  you,  Delia  Sleep 
er,  you  don't  know  how  to  bring  up  young 
ones ! " 

The  captain,  in  his  warmth,  braced  himself 
against  the  door  sills  so  energetically  that  they 
cracked,  and  a  catastrophe,  something  like  that 
which  occurred  when  Samson  played  with  the 
pillars  of  the  temple,  seemed  imminent. 

"  P'raps  she'd  better  turn  'em  over  to  you, 
Cap'n  Thompson,"  growled  Aunt  Hulda ;  "you're 
such  a  grand  hand  at  bringin'  up ! " 

"  Hulda  Prime,  you  jest  attend  to  your  own 
affairs.  This  is  none  of  your  business ;  so  shet 
up!"  shouted  the  more  plain  than  polite  cap 
tain. 

"  Shut  up  !  "  retorted  Aunt  Hulda.  "  Wai,  I 
never !  Ain't  you  gettin'  a  leetle  obstroperlous, 
cap'n  ?  This  here's  a  free  country,  and  nobody's 
to  hinder  anybody's  freein'  their  mind  to  any 
body,  even  if  they  are  a  little  up  in  the  world. 
Shut  up,  indeed!"  And  Aunt  Hulda,  in  her 
indignation,  rose  from  her  chair,  walked  round 
it,  and  plumped  down  again  in  her  old  position. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  31 

"  I  don't  want  any  of  your  interference,  Hulda 
Prime." 

"  I  know  you  don't.  But  it's  enough  to  make 
a  horse  laugh  to  see  you  comin'  here  telliii' 
about  bringin'  up  young  uns  !  Brought  up  your 
Harry  well  —  didn't  yer?" 

"  Hush,  Aunt  Hulda ;  don't  bring  up  that 
matter  now,"  said  Mrs.  Sleeper. 

44  Why  not?"  said  Aunt  Hulda,  whose  neu 
ralgia  was  working  her  temper  up  to  a  high 
pitch.  "  When  folks  come  to  other  folks's  houses 
to  tell  'em  how  to  train  up  their  children,  it's 
high  time  they  looked  to  home." 

44 1  brought  up  my  son  to  obey  his  father  in 
everything,  and  there  wasn't  a  better  boy  in  the 
town." 

44 1  want  to  know !  He  was  dreadful  nice 
when  you  had  him  under  your  thumb,  for  you 
was  so  strict  with  him  he  darsn't  say  his  soul 
was  his  own ;  but  he  made  up  for  it  when  he 
got  loose.  Sech  capers !  He  made  a  torn-boy 
of  our  Becky,  and  was  jest  as  full  of  mischief 
as  he  could  stick." 

44  No  matter  about  my  son,  Hulda  Prime ;  he's 
out  of  the  way  now." 

44  Yes ;  cos  you  wanted  to  put  him  to  a  trade 


32  RUNNING   TO   WASTE. 

after  he'd  been  through  the  academy.  He  didn't 
like  that,  and  started  off  to  get  a  college  edu 
cation,  and  you  shut  the  door  agin  him,  and  you 
locked  up  your  money,  and  vowed  he  should 
starve  afore  you'd  help  him.  But  they  do  say 
he's  been  through  Harvard  College  in  spite  of 
yer." 

"  Hulda  Prime,  you're  a  meddlin'  old  woman," 
roared  the  captain,  thoroughly  enraged,  "  and 
it's  a  pity  somebody  didn't  start  you  off  years 
ago  —  hangin'  round  where  you  ain't  wanted." 

"I  never  hung  round  your  house  much  —  did 
I,  cap'n?"  cried  Aunt  Hulda,  with  a  trium 
phant  grin,  which  evidently  started  the  neuralgic 
pains,  for  she  sank  back  with  a  groan. 

While  this  passage  of  tongues  was  going  on 
inside  the  house,  Miss  Becky  appeared  in  the 
road,  mounted  on  Uncle  Ned,  who  looked  rather 
jaded,  as  though  he  had  been  put  to  a  hard 
gallop.  Flinging  herself  from  his  back  she  entered 
the  door,  when  the  form  of  Captain  Thompson, 
braced  in  the  kitchen  door-way,  —  which  posi 
tion  he  had  not  forsaken  even  in  the  height  of 
debate,  —  met  her  eyes.  Her  first  thought  was 
to  regain  the  safe  companionship  of  Uncle  Ned ; 
but  a  desire  to  know  what  was  going  on  over- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  33 

came  her  sense  of  danger,  and  she  gently  lifted 
the  latch  of  the  door  which  opened  to  the  gar 
ret  stairs,  and  stepped  inside.  The  warlike  par 
ties  in  the  kitchen  covered  her  retreat  with  the 
clamor  of  their  tongues. 

"  Now,  Delia,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  reason," 
continued  the  captain,  turning  from  the  van 
quished  spinster  to  the  silent  woman,  who  had 
kept  busily  at  work  during  the  combat.  "  You're 
too  easy  with  them  children.  They  want  a  strong 
hand  to  keep  them  in  line.  Now  you  know  I'm 
a  good  friend  to  you  and  yours ;  and  though 
Cyrus  Sleeper  treated  me  rather  shabbily  — ' 

"  My  gracious  !  hear  that  man  talk !  "  blurted 
out  Aunt  Hulda.  "  It's  no  such  thing,  and  you 
know  it.  You  made  more  money  out  of  his 
Californy  speculation  with  that  air  ship  than 
you  ever  made  afore  in  your  life." 

"Will  you  be  quiet,  woman?"  roared  the 
captain.  "  I  ain't  talkin'  to  you,  and  don't  want 
any  of  your  meddlin'." 

"  Aunt  Hulda,  don't  interrupt,  please,"  said 
Mrs.  Sleeper  ;  "  let's  hear  what  the  captain  has 
to  say." 

"  Then  let  him  talk  sense.  The  idea  of  Cyrus 
Sleeper's  ever  treating  anybody  shabby !  It's 
3 


34  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

ridikerlous !  "  growled  Aunt   Hulda,   as   she  re 
turned  to  her  neuralgic  nursing. 

"  The  young  ones  want  a  strict  hand 
'em,"  continued  the  captain,  when  quiet 
restored  again.  "  I'm  willing  to  take  part  charge 
of  them,  if  you'll  let  me.  They  must  be  sen' 
to  school." 

"  I  can't  afford  it,  captain.  I  couldn't  send 
'em  last  year.  You  know  the  money's  most 
gone,"  said  Mrs.  Sleeper. 

"  I  know  its  all  gone,  Delia.  What  you've 
been  drawing  the  last  year  is  from  my  own 
pocket.  But  no  matter  for  that.  Drinkwater 
opens  the  school  Monday.  I'll  send  the  children 
there,  and  pay  the  bills.  It's  time  something 
was  done  for  their  education ;  and  I'll  be  a 
father  to  them,  as  they're  not  likely  to  have 
another  very  soon." 

"  Don't  say  that,  don't  say  that  I  Cyrus  will 
come  back  —  I  know  he  will." 

"  If  he's  alive.  But  don't  be  too  hopeful. 
There's  been  a  heap  of  mortality  among  the 
miners ;  and  if  he's  alive,  we  should  have  heard 
from  him  afore  this.  Chances  are  agin  him.  So 
you'd  better  be  resigned.  Yes,  you'd  better  give 
him  up,  put  011  mourning  for  a  year,  and  the» 
look  round,  for  the  money's  gone." 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  35 

"  Give  up  my  husband ! "  cried  Mrs.  SWper, 
with  energy.  "  No,  no.  He  will  come  back ;  I 
feel,  I  know  he  will.  He  would  never  desert 
me;  and  if  he  died, —  O,  Heaven,  no,  no!  —  if 
he  died,  he  would  find  some  way  to  send  his 
last  words  to  me.  No,  no,  don't  say  give  him 
up.  I  cannot,  I  cannot !  "  and  the  poor  woman 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Wai,  I  never  !  "  cried  Aunt  Hulda.  "  Look 
round,  indeed  !  Why,  it's  bigamy,  rank  bigamy !" 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  captain,  quickly,  anx 
ious  to  avoid  another  battle,  "  do  as  you  please 
about  that ;  but  let's  give  the  children  a  good 
bringing  up.  They've  got  to  earn  their  own 
living,  and  the  sooner  they  get  a  little  learning 
the  better." 

"  The  children  should  go  to  school,  captain, 
I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Sleeper;  "but  I'm  afraid 
they  will  not  take  kindly  to  the  change." 

"  I'll  make  'em,  then.  It's  time  they  were 
broke,  and  I  flatter  myself  I'm  able  to  bring  'em 
under  control.  But  make  no  interference  with 
my  plans.  Once  begun,  they  must  stick  to 
school.  It's  for  their  good,  you  know." 

"  Very  well,  captain ;  I  consent ;  only  be  easy 
with  them  at  first." 


36  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  O,  I'll  be  easy  enough,  never  fear,  if  they 
mind  me ;  if  not,  they  must  take  the  conse 
quences.  So,  next  Monday  fix  'em  up,  and  I'll 
take  'em  over,  and  talk  to  Drink  water." 

"I'll  have  them  all  ready,  captain,  and  thank 
you  for  the  trouble  your  taking,"  said  Mrs. 
Sleeper. 

44  Now,  mind !  no  interference  from  you  or 
Hulda.  If  there  is—" 

44  Don't  fret  yourself  about  me,  cap'n.  Mercy 
knows  I've  trouble  enough  of  my  own.  I  declare, 
there's  that  lumbago  comiii'  on  agin,"  groaned 
Aunt  Hulda. 

The  captain  seemed  highly  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  a  change  in  the  condition  of  his 
enemy,  and,  with  a  triumphant  smile,  backed 
into  the  entry. 

44  Hallo !  there's  my  horse,  reeking  with  sweat. 
Where  is  that  imp  of  mischief?"  thundered  the 
exasperated  captain.  44  If  I  catch  her — " 

44  Here  I  am,  cap'n.  Clear  the  coast !  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  Hooray!" 

The  voice  came  from  the  garret.  There  was 
a  thundering  racket  on  the  stairs,  a  crash  against 
the  door,  which  flew  open,  and  Becky,  seated 
in  an  old  cradle  without  rockers,  burst  into  the 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  37 

entry.  Tired  of  listening,  she  had  searched  the 
garret  for  sport,  had  dragged  this  old  emblem 
of  infancy  from  its  hiding-place  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  seated  herself  in  it,  and,  regardless 
of  consequences,  started  for  a  slide. 

It  was  a  reckless  act.  As  the  door  flew  open, 
the  cradle  struck  the  captain's  shins,  throwing  t 
him  backwards,  and  pitching  Becky  out  of  the 
front  door  on  to  the  grass.  The  captain  scram 
bled  to  his  feet,  furious  with  pain  and  choler. 
Becky  regained  hers  quickly  and  started  for  the 
barn,  the  captain  in  hot  pursuit.  Another  stern 
chase.  The  captain  soon  desisted,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  away,  while  Miss  Becky  perched 
herself  on  the  rickety  fence,  and  saluted  the 
captain's  ears,  as  he  rode  down  the  hill,  with 
the  refrain  of  the  well-known  song,  "  O,  dear, 
what  can  the  matter  be  ?  " 


38  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 


CHAPTER  III. 


MBS.  THOMPSON'S  CROSS. 


I,HE  captain  cantered  home  in  no  enviable 
state  of  mind.  His  mission  had  been 
successful,  in  as  much  as  he  had  gained 
Mrs.  Sleeper's  consent  to  his  plan  for  "  tying 
up "  her  children.  Otherwise  he  felt  unhappy 
regarding  the  events  of  the  day.  There  were 
still  stinging  pains  in  his  ankles  arid  back  to 
remind  him  of  Miss  Becky's  exploit,  and  the 
shrill,  sarcastic  voice  of  Hulda  Prime  still  rang 
in  his  ears.  That  so  miserable  a  creature  as  he 
considered  her  should  have  dared  to  criticise  his 
conduct  was  peculiarly  mortifying  to  his  pride. 
Aunt  Hulda  had,  indeed,  spoken  boldly.  He 
was,  undoubtedly  the  greatest  man  in  Cleverly. 
Senior  deacon  in  the  church,  moderator  at  town 
meetings,  referee  in  all  disputes,  and  general 
adviser  of  his  fellow-townsmen,  he  was  a  man 
to  be  treated  with  respect,  a  man  who  would 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  39 

brook  no  interference  with  his  plans,  a  man 
whose  opinions  must  not  be  combatted,  and  one 
whom  people  did  not  think  it  safe  to  thwart. 
And  this  poor  old  hanger-on  at  people's  firesides 
had  dared  to  criticise  a  proceeding  which  others 
had  not  the  courage  to  mention  in  his  presence. 
And  he  had  not  the  power  to  punish  her.  Poor 
Aunt  Hulda  was  never  thought  so  much  of 
before  by  a  man  as  she  was  by  the  captain  dur 
ing  his  homeward  ride. 

Gloomily  he  rode  into  the  yard,  and  consigned 
Uncle  Ned  to  the  care  of  Phil  Hague,  his  man- 
of-all-work,  who  advanced  smiling,  to  meet  him, 
undeterred  by  the  black  looks  of  his  master. 

"By  me  sowl,  cap'n,  dear,  it's  a  fine  lather 
yez  given  owld  Uncle  Ned.  Is  it  fur  ye've 
rode  ?  " 

"No,"  shortly  replied  the  captain. 

"Is  that  so?  Thin  what's  the  matter  wid 
the  baste  ?  Shure  he's  not  looked  so  wary  loike 
since  —  since  Master  Harry  —  " 

"  Shut  up,  you  fool !  "  thundered  the  captain. 
"  It's  your  business  to  take  care  of  him,  and  not 
to  ask  impertinent  questions."  And  he  stamped 
into  the  house,  muttering,  "  Am  I  never  to  hear 
the  last  of  that  boy?" 


40  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

Phil  scratched  his  head,  and  looked  after  the 
captain. 

"  Shure  there's  an  aist  wind  bio  win',  an'  we'll 
have  to  be  afther  scudding'  under  bare  poles, 
jist." 

Gloomily  the  captain  stalked  through  the  vari 
ous  sections  of  his  establishment,  until  he  reached 
the  front  sitting-room,  and  found  himself  in  the 
presence  of  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Thompson  was  the  queen  of  Cleverly 
society.  The  mention  of  her  name  in  any  com 
pany  was  enough  to  make  the  most  silent 
tongue  suddenly  eloquent.  She  was  plump  in 
person  and  plump  in  virtues.  Her  face  was  just 
round  and  full  enough  to  please  everybody.  No 
one  had  such  rosy  cheeks  as  Mrs.  Thompson, 
"  at  her  time  of  life  too  !  "  There  was  the  kind 
liest  light  in  her  .grey  eyes,  and  the  jolliest 
puckers  about  her  mouth ;  and  the  short  gray 
curls  that  flourished  all  over  her  head  formed  a 
perfect  crown  of  beauty  —  nothing  else.  Cleverly 
folks  were  proud  of  her,  and  well  they  might 
be.  She  was  everybody's  friend.  She  not  only 
ministered  to  the  wants  of  the  needy,  but  she 
sought  them  out.  She  was  the  first  at  the  bedside 
of  the  sick,  and  the  last  to  give  them  up,  for 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  41 

she  was  as  well  skilled  in  domestic  medicine  as 
she  was  in  domestic  cooking,  and  superior  in 
both.  She  was  a  wondrous  helper,  for  she  knew 
just  where  to  put  her  hands,  and  an  enchanting 
talker,  for  she  never  spoke  ill  of  anybody.  She 
was  a  devout  sister  of  the  church,  promulgating 
the  true  religious  doctrines  of  faith,  hope,  and 
charity  with  no  sanctimonious  face,  but  purifying 
and  warming  with  the  incense  of  good  deeds 
and  the  sunshine  of  a  life  cheerful,  hopeful,  and 
energetic.  She  had  her  cross  to  bear  —  who  has 
not?  —  but  she  so  enveloped  it  in  the  luxuriant 
branches  of  the  tree  of  usefulness  rooted  in  her 
own  heart,  that  its  burden  lay  easy  on  her 
broad,  matronly  shoulders. 

On  the  captain's  entrance  she  was  seated  in 
a  low  rocking-chair,  darning  one  of  her  hus 
band's  socks.  She  looked  up,  with  a  smile  upon 
her  face. 

"  Ah,  father  !  back  early  to-day !  " 

"  Father !  "  snapped  the  captain,  as  he  flung 
himself  upon  a  sofa.  "Why  will  you  insist  on 
calling  me  by  that  name  ?  Haven't  I  repeatedly 
asked  you  not  to  ?  " 

"  So  you  have  Paul,  so  you  have ;  and  I've 
repeatedly  disobeyed  you,"  cheerfully  answered 


42  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

the  good  woman.  "  I  didn't  mean  to ;  but 
women  are  so  forgetful !  I'll  be  more  careful  in 
future,  fath —  Dear  me,  there  it  is  again!" 

" There,  there!  what's  the  use  of  talking  to 
you  ?  But  I  won't  have  it.  I  tell  you  I'm  no 
father.  I  won't  be  a  father.  When  that  boy 
took  the  reins  in  his  own  hands,  I  cut  him  out 
of  my  heart.  I'll  never,  never  own  him !  " 

Mrs.  Thompson  bit  her  lips.  Evidently  the 
cross  was  bearing  down  hard  upon  her.  Only  an 
instant,  and  the  smile  came  back. 

"  You  rode  up  from  the  bridge.  Been  over 
,o  Delia's?" 

"  Yes,  I've  been  over  to  Delia's.  That  woman, 
and  that  woman's  young  ones,  will  drive  me 
crazy." 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  go  over  there,  if  I  were 
you.  Let  me  be  your  messenger  in  future." 

"  No,  marm.  I've  taken  this  case  into  my  own 
hands,  and  I  mean  to  finish  it.  When  Sleeper 
disappeared,  I  told  you  not  to  go  near  them, 
for  I  knew  that  you  would  be  just  foolish 
enough  to  fix  them  up  so  comfortably,  she  would 
lead  an  idle  life ;  and  I  wasn't  going  to  have 
anything  of  the  kind  going  on.  She's  got  to 
come  to  hard  work,  and  she  might  as  well  com- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  43 

mence  first  as  last.  Its  a  mystery  to  me  how 
she's  got  along  so  well  as  she  has." 

It  was  no  mystery  to  Mrs.  Thompson.  She 
had  been  forbidden  to  go,  but  not  to  send  ;  and 
many  and  heavy  had  been  the  burdens  her  mes 
sengers  had  carried  across  the  river  to  the  little 
brown  house  on  the  hill. 

"But  I've  settled  things  now,"  continued  the 
captain.  "  Next  Monday  the  young  ones  go  to 
school." 

"  Next  Monday  !  No,  no  ;  don't  send  them 
then !  "  cried  Mrs.  Thompson,  with  a  shade  of 
alarm  in  her  manner. 

"  And  why  not  ?  I'd  like  to  know.  Next 
Monday  the  term  begins." 

"Yes;  but — but  hadn't  you  better  wait  a  few 
days  ?  " 

"Wait?  wait?  I  won't  wait  a  moment  after 
the  doors  open.  Next  Monday  they  go,  bright 
and  early." 

"Just  as  you  say,  Paul,"  said  Mrs.  Thomp 
son,  with  a  sigh.  "How  is  Delia?  looking 
well?" 

"No;  she  looks  bad.  Think  she  might,  with 
that  grumbling  old  crone  fastened  on  to  her." 

"  Old  crone !  Why,  Paul,  whom  do  you 
mean  ?  " 


44  R UNNING  TO  WAS TB. 

"  Hulda  Prime.  She's  dropped  in  there  to 
4  help ! '  Help  make  her  miserable  ;  that's  all 
she'll  do.  Plaguy  old  busybody,  meddling  in 
other  people's  affairs !  I  wish  the  town  was  well 
rid  of  her." 

"  She  is  rather  an  encumbrance  —  that's  a 
fact,"  quietly  replied  Mrs.  Thompson.  "But 
we  are  never  troubled  with  her." 

"  She  knows  better  than  to  come  near  me," 
said  the  captain,  with  a  wise  shake  of  the  head. 
"Why,  she  had  the  impudence  to  taunt  me  with 
having  turned  my  own  son  out  of  doors  ! " 

"Indeed!"  said  his  wife,  hardly  able  to  con 
ceal  a  smile. 

"Yes,  she  did  ;  and  she'd  heard  that,  spite  of 
me,  the  boy  had  gone  through  college.  Plague 
take  her  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  Aunt  Hulda  never  picks  her 
words.  She  is  sometimes  very  aggravating." 

"Aggravating!  She's  insolent.  The  idea  of 
her  daring  to  talk  so  to  me!  O,  if  there  was 
only  a  law  to  shut  the  mouths  of  such  meddling 
old  tattlers,  I'd  spend  every  cent  I  have  but 
what  I'd  lock  her  up  where  her  voice  could 
never  be  heard  !  " 

The    captain,    unable    longer    to    keep    quiet, 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  45 

here  rose,  dashed  about  the  room  two  or  three 
times,  then  darted  out,  and  his  angry  tirade  died 
away  in  the  distance  as  he  made  his  way  to  the 
barn. 

Mrs  Thompson  sat  quiet  a  moment,  then 
burst  into  such  a  merry  peal  of  laughter  that 
the  Canary  in  the  cage  above  her  head  was 
inspired,  and  burst  into  a  torrent  of  song.  The 
audacity  of  Aunt  Hulda  seemed  to  affect  Mrs. 
Thompson  far  less  severely  than  it  did  her  hus 
band,  for  that  was  the  cause  of  her  mirth. 

Had  Captain  Thompson  really  been  a  bad 
man,  his  frequent  outbursts  of  passion  might 
have  terrified,  and  his  fierce  threats  have  pained 
her  ;  but  a  long  acquaintance  with  the  defect  in 
his  otherwise  good  disposition  had  made  these 
stormy  passages  too  familiar  to  be  dreaded.  His 
one  defect  —  Mrs.  Thompson's  cross — was  obsti 
nacy.  Give  the  man  his  own  way,  and  he  was 
ready  for  any  good  act  or  work:  thwart  him 
in  the  slightest  particular,  and  he  was  immov 
able.  And  so  Mrs.  Thompson,  like  a  wise 
woman,  never  openly  arrayed  herself  against  his 
wishes  or  opinions.  And  yet  the  captain  would 
have  been  astonished,  had  he  calmly  investigated 
the  matter,  to  find  how  seldom  he  really  had  his 


46  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

own  way.  This  shrewd  woman  knowing  it  was 
useless  to  combat  his  stubborn  spirit,  was  con 
tinually  setting  up  safety-rods  to  attact  this 
destructive  fluid  where  it  could  do  no  harm  ; 
contriving  plans  for  him  to  combat,  herself  tri 
umphing  in  their  downfall,  while  he  exulted  in 
his  supposed  victory. 

Miss  Becky's  career  was  a  case  in  point.  She 
had  been  pained  to  see  and  hear  of  the  girl's 
wild,  mischievous  pranks,  and  felt  it  was  time 
she  should  be  sent  to  school.  She  took  occasion 
one  day  when,  in  sight  of  the  window,  Becky 
had  climbed  up  the  lightning-rod  on  the  church, 
and  seated  herself  in  a  window  over  the  door,  to 
call  her  husband's  attention  to  the  fact,  with  the 
remark  that  u  such  exercise  must  be  excellent 
for  a  girl's  constitution."  The  captain  fired  up 
at  once,  denounced  such  tomboy  tricks,  and 
declared  the  girl  should  go  to  school,  or  he'd 
know  the  reason  why. 

And  so  thanks  to  Mrs  Thompson,  and  not  her 
husband,  Becky  was  to  be  turned  from  the  error 
of  her  ways.  The  captain  was  a  liberal  man  ; 
his  purse  was  always  open  to  the  demands  of 
his  wife.  She  might  cover  every  bed  in  the 
parish  with  comforters,  clothe  the  poor,  and  feed 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  47 

the  hungry,  to  her  heart's  content ;  he  would 
never  stop  to  count  the  cost.  And  so  she  often 
managed  to  repair  damages  his  temper  had 
caused,  out  of  his  own  purse. 

But  the  man's  obstinacy  had  brought  one  se 
rious  disaster,  which  she  found  all  her  woman's 
wit  necessary  to  repair.  It  had  driven  their 
only  child  from  his  home,  and  made  a  breach 
between  father  and  son  which  might  never  be 
healed. 

Harry  Thompson,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  was  a 
leader  among  the  boys  of  Cleverly.  He  was 
brave,  skilful,  and  mischievous.  He  was  looked 
upon  as  a  hero  by  his  playfellows,  whom  he 
could  incite  to  the  performance  of  wonderful 
gymnastic  feats,  or  to  the  perpetration  of  boyish 
tricks  hardly  as  creditable.  Among  his  enthusi 
astic  admirers  was  Becky  Sleeper,  then  ten  years 
of  age,  whom,  being  a  special  favorite  of  his, 
he  took  pains  to  train  in  all  the  sports  with 
which  he  was  familiar.  He  was  then  attending 
the  school ;  no  interested  student,  but  very  quick 
and  apt  to  learn,  standing  fair  in  his  class.  The 
next  year  he  was  sent  to  the  academy ;  and  a 
suddenly-acquired  taste  for  learning  so  fired  his 
ambitious  spirit  that  at  the  end  of  the  second 


48  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

year  he  graduated  at  the  head  of  his  class,  with 
the  reputation  of  being  a  remarkable  scholar. 
Then,  hungry  for  knowledge,  he  wanted  to  go 
to  college.  But  captain  Thompson  had  already 
planned  a  course  for  his  son.  He  had  book-learn 
ing  enough  ;  he  wanted  him  to  be  a  practical  man. 
He  should  go  into  the  yard  and  learn  the  trade 
of  a  ship-carpenter ;  in  time  he  could  be  a 
builder ;  and  then  the  son  could  build,  and  the 
father  would  fit  out  and  send  his  ships  abroad. 

The  son  demurred.  The  father's  obstinacy 
asserted  itself;  he  could  not  be  made  to  listen 
to  reason  ;  and  the  matter  ended  by  the  boy's 
proclaiming  his  determination  to  go  through  col 
lege,  if  he  had  to  scrub  the  floors  to  get  through, 
and  the  father's  threat  that,  if  he  left  home, 
the  doors  should  be  closed  against  his  return. 

The  boy  went.  The  mention  of  his  name 
was  forbidden  in  his  home  by  the  angry  father. 
He  had  been  gone  four  years,  and  the  captain 
seemed  as  insensible  to  his  welfare  as  he  did 
when  he  pronounced  his  dictum. 

But  the  mother,  she  had  not  held  her  peace 
for  four  long  years  without  knowlege  of  her  boy. 
Snugly  tucked  away  among  her  treasures  were 
weekly  records  of  her  son's  progress,  in  his 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  49 

own  handwriting — tender,  loving  epistles,  such 
as  make  a  mother's  heart  warm  and  happy,  telling 
of  true  growth  in  manhood's  noblest  attributes, 
and  showing  in  every  line  the  blessed  power  of 
a  mother's  influence. 

Despite  her  cross,  Mrs.  Thompson  was  a  happy 
woman,  and  the  championship  of  her  son  by 
Aunt  Hulda  was  a  powor  to  make  her  merry; 
for  she  knew  how  her  Harry  got  through  college. 
He  didn't  scrub  the  floors  to  get  through.  O, 
no  !  Captain  Thompson's  purse  paved  the  way 
for  a  more  stately  march  through  the  halls  of 
learning. 

And  so,  having  had  her  laugh,  Mrs.  Thomp 
son  called,  in  a  loud  voice, — 

"  Silly  !  " 

Silly,  somewhere  down  in  the  tale  of  the  kite, 
answered  the  summons  with  a  shrill  "  Yes, 
marm,"  and  in  a  few  minutes  entered  the  room. 

Priscilla  York  was  one  of  Mrs.  Thompson's 
charity  patients  —  a  tall,  ungainly,  awkward  girl, 
whom,  from  pity,  the  good  woman  had  taken 
into  her  house,  with  a  desire  to  teach  her  a 
few  of  the  rudiments  of  housekeeping. 

Silly  was  by  no  means  a  promising  pupil,  her 
u breaking  in"  requiring  the  breaking  up  of 
4 


50  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

many  dishes  and  the  exercise  of  much   patience. 

She  was  abrupt  and  jerking  in  her  motion, 
except  when  she  walked ;  then  she  seemed  afraid 
of  damaging  carpets,  not  having  been  accustomed 
to  them,  and  walked  on  tiptoe,  which  peculiar 
footfall  caused  the  heels  of  her  slip-shod  shoes 
to  drop  with  a  "  clap-clap-clap,"  as  she  crossed 
the  oil-cloth  on  the  floor  of  the  dining-room. 
Her  clothes  hung  loosely  on  her,  and  as  she 
entered  the  room  her  arms  were  stuck  stiff  at 
her  side,  her  mouth  wide  open,  and  her  eyes 
staring  as  though  she  expected  to  hear  some 
dreadful  news. 

"Silly,"    said    Mrs.     Thompson,      "get     the 
covered  basket." 

44  Yes,  marm,'7  said  Silly,  and  darted  for  the 
door. 

44  Stop,  stop,  child ;  I've  not  finished." 

Silly  darted  back  again. 

44 1  want  you  to  get  the  covered  basket,  and 
take  some  things  over  to  Mrs.  Sleeper." 

44 Yes  marm;"  and  the  girl  darted  for  the 
door  a  second  time. 

44  Silly,  stop  this  instant !  What  in  the  world 
are  you  thinking  of?" 

44  The  covered  basket,  marm ;  it's  in  the 
pantry." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  51 

"Silly,  when  I  have  finished  what  I  want  to 
say,  I  will  tell  you  to  go." 

"Then  you  don't  want  the  covered  basket, 
marm  ?  " 

"  Get  the  covered  basket,  put  in  it  tho  ham 
that  was  left  at  dinner,  a  pair  of  chickens  I 
cooked  this  morning,  a  couple  of  mince  pies, 
and  a  loaf  of  bread.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes  marm.  Basket,  ham,  chickens,  mince 
pie,  bread,"  said  Silly,  briskly. 

"Very  well.  Those  are  for  Mrs.  Sleeper,  with 
my  compliments." 

"Yes  marm.     Basket  and  all?" 

"  Bring  back  the  basket,  of  course.  Now 
go-"  ' 

"  Yes,  marm ; "  and  Silly  made  a  third  dart 
doorward. 

"Stop,  stop,  Silly!" 

"  You  told  me  to  go  when  you  said  go  ;  and 
I  was  a  going  to  go." 

"That  was  my  mistake,  Silly.  1  want  you 
to  go  to  the  pantry,  get  a  bottle  of  currant 
wine,  a  jar  of  damson  preserves,  and  a  box  of 
sardines.  Can  you  find  them  all?" 

"  O,  yes,  marm.  Currant  wine,  damson  pre 
serves,  sardines." 


52  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"Very  well.  Be  careful  in  handling  things. 
Those  are  for  Aunt  Hulda,  with  my  compli 
ments.  Make  no  mistake,  and  be  sure  to  tell 
her  I  sent  them.  Now,  Silly,  go." 

Silly  started  at  the  word  "  go "  so  forcibly 
that  she  ran  plump  against  the  portly  form  of 
the  captain,  who  just  then  entered. 

"  Hang  it !  "  roared  he  ;  "  why  don't  you  see 
where  you  are  going,  stupid?" 

"  Stupid  "  stopped  not  to  tell  the  reason  why, 
but  darted  by  the  captain:  and  soon  a  commo 
tion  among  the  dishes  in  the  pantry  made  it 
evident  that  Silly  was  "handling  things"  none 
to  carefully. 

"Where's  that  crazy  thing  going  now?" 
muttered  the  captain,  as  he  stalked  to  the 
window. 

"  On  one  of  my  errands,  Paul ;  so  don't  be 
inquisitive," 

Had  he  dreamed  that  Aunt  Hulda's  defence 
of  his  boy  had  turned  his  wife's  sympathies  in 
her  direction,  and  that  there  was  likely  to  be  a 
shower  of  goodies  poured  into  the  spinster's 
lap,  he  might  have  been  inquisitive,  instead  of 
shouting  at  that  particular  moment, — 

"  Hang  it !  there's  that  boy  again !    and    with 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  53 

my  apples,  too !  He  shan't  escape  me  this  time. 
No,  no."  And  the  captain  darted  from  the 
room,  and  out  into  the  road,  bare-headed. 

Teddy  Sleeper  had  waited  two  hours,  in  the 
woods  behind  the  orchard  the  return  of  Becky, 
supposing  that,  as  she  was  the  leader  of  the 
expedition,  after  decoying  the  captain  to  a  safe 
distance,  she  would  return  to  rescue  her  fol 
lower  ;  for  Teddy  had  not  sufficient  reliance  on 
his  own  skill  to  venture  either  an  attack  or  a 
retreat.  At  last,  getting  weary,  he  crept  out 
into  the  lane,  and  from  there  into  the  main  street, 
and  started  for  home.  But  as  he  neared  the 
church  he  was  waylaid  by  a  half  a  dozen  of  his 
cronies,  just  returning  from  a  game  of  base  ball, 
and,  of  course,  very  hungry.  Catching  sight  of 
the  fruit  stowed  away  in  Teddy's  jacket,  they 
set  up  a  roar  of  delight,  and  surrounded  him. 

"Hooray!  Ted's  made  a  haul!" 

"Divy's  the  thing — hey,  Ted?" 

"O,  come,  Ted,  don't  be  mean." 

"  But  they  ain't  mine ;  they're  Becky's,"  said 
Teddy,  warding  off  the  snatches  at  his  plunder 
as  best  he  could  with  his  elbows. 

"Becky's  —  are  they?  Hooray!  She  won't 
care.  Divy,  Ted.  She's  the  best  fellow  in 
town." 


54  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Teddy  had  about  made  up  his  mind  to  un 
bosom  himself  to  his  captors,  when  he  caught 
sight  of  the  bareheaded  captain  emerging  from 
the  door.  A  shiver  ran  through  him.  Hardly 
a  chance  for  escape  now.  Nevertheless  he  darted 
round  the  corner  at  a  lively  pace,  and  down  the 
hill.  The  disappointed  boys,  not  having  seen  the 
captain,  but  supposing  Teddy  w^as  attempting 
to  escape  from  them,  set  up  a  yell,  and  started 
in  pursuit.  But  Teddy  had  made  a  good  start, 
and  fear  lent  unwonted  activity  to  his  legs.  So, 
down  the  hill  they  went,  Teddy  ahead,  the  boys 
close  at  his  heels,  and  the  captain  dashing  on 
behind. 

With  such  a  load  as  he  carried,  Teddy  could 
not  long  keep  up  his  gallant  pace,  and  his  pur- 
suprs  rapidly  gained  upon  him.  He  was  almost 
to  the  bridge,  and  there  was  Becky  cheering  and 
clapping  her  hands.  If  he  could  only  reach  her, 
he  felt  he  was  safe.  With  a  quick  impulse,  he 
drew  two  apples  from  his  bosom,  and  threw 
them  over  his  head.  The  foremost  boy  stopped 
suddenly  to  pick  them  up.  On  a  down  grade, 
too !  The  result  was  appalling.  In  an  instant 
he  was  on  the  ground,  with  his  companions 
piled  upon  him.  A  pitfall  in  the  path  of  the 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  55 

irate  captain.  His  ponderous  body  launched  it 
self  upon  the  heap,  and  great  was  the  fall 
thereof.  Screams,  groans,  and  dirt  filled  the 
air  as  Teddy  reached  the  bridge.  The  van 
quished  picked  themselves  up  as  best  they  could, 
without  a  thought  of  further  pursuit,  while  the 
conquering  heroes  marched  up  the  hill,  to  make, 
in  some  secure  retreat,  a  fair  division  of  the 
spoils. 


66  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BECKY  SLEEPER'S  CHARITY. 

jEMEMBER  the  Sabbath  day,  to  keep 
it  holy,"  was  a  precept  by  no  means 
religiously  observed  at  the  little 
brown  house  on  the  hill.  Mrs.  Sleeper  had 
never  been  a  regular  attendant  at  divine  ser 
vice,  even  in  her  happiest  days,  and,  since  her 
peculiar  misfortune,  had  almost  entirely  neglected 
the  church.  A  part  of  the  day  was  regularly 
spent  in  pooring  over  the  letters  of  her  husband, 
the  effect  of  which  was  to  set  her  weeping  for  the 
balance.  The  young  people,  left  to  their  own 
devices,  amused  themselves  by  pitching  "  quates  " 
behind  the  house,  playing  tag  in  the  barn,  or 
by  indulgence  in  other  equally  indecorous  sports 
endeavored  to  wear  out  the  long  day.  Aunt 
Hulda  generally  brought  forth  from  their  resting- 
place  at  the  bottom  of  her  trunk  "  The  Family 
Physician,"  or  "  Every  Woman  her  own  Doctor," 


ON  THE   BKIIHJI;. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  57 

two  standard  works  for  the  cure  of  all  diseases, 
and  faithfully  consulting  them  for  remedies  to 
meet  her  infirmities,  or,  from  old  habit,  took  the 
ponderous  family  Bible  into  her  lap,  and  in  its 
pages  sought  consolation,  the  Book  of  Job,  how 
ever,  being  the  portion  which  really  soothed  her 
perturbed  spirit. 

On  the  Sunday  following  the  disaster  on  the 
hill,  the  afflicted  spinster,  in  the  sitting-room, 
was  groaning  over  a  treatise  on  cancer,  in  "  The 
Family  Physician,"  that  disease  being  the  order 
of  the  day  in  her  system  of  complaints.  It  was 
near  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  Becky, 
having  exhausted  the  supply  of  out-door  sports, 
was  lying  upon  the  sofa,  and,  with  a  very  dis 
satisfied  look  upon  her  face,  was  watching  Aunt 
Hulda.  Teddy,  who  seldom  lost  sight  of  his 
sister,  was  flattening  his  nose  against  the  win 
dow-pane. 

"  Aunt  Hulda,"  said  Becky,  suddenly,  "don't 
you  think  Sunday  is  an  awful  long  day  ?  " 

"  I  do,  by  hokey  I  "  blurted  out  Teddy.  "  Can't 
get  up  no  fun,  nor  no  thin'.  I'd  like  to  go  a 
fishin'  first  rate  ;  but  jest  as  you  git  a  nibble, 
long  comes  some  the  meetin' -house  folks,  and 
begin  to  talk  about  breakin'  the  Sabbath.  And 
that  jest  scares  off  all  the  fish." 


58  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"And  the  fishermen,  too,  Teddy.  My  sakes, 
how  you  did  run  last  Sunday  when  Deacon  Hill 
caught  you  fishing  down  at  the  fore  side  !  "  said 
Becky,  with  a  laugh. 

"Plague  take  him!  he  jest  marched  off  with 
my  line  and  bait,  too,"  growled  Teddy.  "  It's 
none  of  his  business,  anyhow." 

"  All  days  are  long  to  a  poor,  afflicted  cree- 
ter,"  groaned  Aunt  Hulda.  "But  when  I  was 
a  girl  of  your  age,  I  did  think  Sunday  was  as 
long  as  six  week-days  beat  into  one ;  but  then 
it's  the  Lord's  day,  and  I  s'pose,  after  all,  we 
can  make  it  long  or  short,  just  as  we  try  to  do 
what  he  wants  us  to." 

"  Well,  I'd  like  to  know  what  he  wants  me 
to  do,  for  I  can't  find  out  any  way  to  make  it 
short.  It's  just  hateful,  and  I  wish  there  wasn't 
any  such  day,"  replied  Becky,  turning  restlessly 
about. 

"  Why,  Rebecca  Sleeper,  how  can  you  talk 
so  ?  One  of  the  things  he  wants  folks  to  do  is 
to  go  to  meetin'  regular.  You  ought  to  know 
that  well  enough." 

"Does  he?"  said  Becky,  with  a  mischievous 
twinkle  in  her  eye.  "  Seems  to  me,  Aunt  Hulda, 
you  don't  mind  very  well." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  59 

"Lor,  child,  I'm  a  poor,  afflicted  creeter.  He 
don't  expect  me  to  do  much  but  bear  my  troubles 
patiently;  and  I'm  sure  I  do  thafr,"  said  Aunt 
Hulda,  forcing  a  look  of  resignation  into  her 
face. 

"  Don't  think  much  of  goin'  to  meetin'  any 
how,"  said  Teddy.  "  They  always  pokes  us  up 
in  the  gallery,  and  won't  let  us  go  to  sleep ; 
and  if  old  Fox,  the  sexton,  ketches  a  feller  firm' 
spitballs,  he  jest  whacks  him  on  the  head." 

"  Then  there  are  other  ways  to  make  the  day 
short — readin'  the  Bible  and  other  good  books." 

"  Yes ;  *  Family  Physician/  I  s'pose,"  said 
Teddy.  "  I  jest  wish  I  had  Robinson  Crusoe : 
that's  a  first  rate  one." 

"  Then  a  goin'  to  see  sick  folks,  and  carryin' 
'em  little  dainties,  is  another;  and  that  makes 
the  day  short,  I  tell  you,"  continued  Aunt  Hulda. 
"  When  I  was  a  helpin'  Mrs.  Lincoln,  years  and 
years  ago,  she  used  to  say  to  me  Sunday  after 
noons,  '  Hulda,  don't  you  want  to  clap  on  your 
bonnet  and  run  over  to  the  widder  Starns  with 
the  basket  ? '  or,  4  Hulda,  don't  you  want  to  carry 
this  jelly  round  to  Mr.  Peters?  He's  terrible 
sick.'  And  I  used  to  go  and  go,  and  never  feel 
a  bit  tired,  because  it  was  charitable  work  ;  and 


60  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Sundays  used  to  go  quicker  than  week-days,  and 
I  was  glad  when  they  come  round  again.  Now 
there's  poor  Mr.  York,  Silly  York's  father ;  poor 
man,  he's  most  gone  with  the  consumption ;  now, 
if  you  only  had  a  nice  little  bit  of  somethin' 
good  to  take  over  to  him,  you  don't  know  how 
good  you  would  feel,  and  how  the  time  would 
fly !  O,  dear,  if  I  was  only  strong  and  well ! 
But  what's  the  use  of  talkin'  ?  Here  I've  got 
the  rheumatics  so  I  can't  walk,  and  the  neural- 
ogy  so  I  can't  sit  still,  and  I'm  afraid  there's  a 
cancer  comin'  on  the  end  of  my  tongue,  and 
then  I  can't  talk." 

Here  Aunt  Hulda  ran  out  her  tongue,  and 
commenced  exploring  it  with  her  finger  to  find 
a  small  pimple  which  had  made  its  appearance 
that  day.  Becky  lay  very  quiet  on  the  sofa, 
watching  Aunt  Hulda,  who,  after  the  examina 
tion  of  her  tongue,  plunged  into  "  The  Family 
Physician"  with  anxious  interest. 

"  Did  she  ever  delight  in  doing  good?  "  thought 
Becky,  as  she  studied  Aunt  Hulda's  face  with 
renewed  interest.  "  Everybody  calls  her  a  nui 
sance,  and  everybody  laughs  at  her  complaints. 
She  take  nice  things  to  sick  folks,  and  feel  good 
in  doing  it !  And  she  says  this  is  the  Lord's 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  61 

day  —  this  long,  weary  day,  —  and  can  be  made 
short  and  pleasant  like  the  other  six !  Why, 
she  talks  like  a  minister!" 

Aunt  Hulda  was  a  new  being  in  the  girl's 
eyes.  She  began  to  reverence  the  afflicted  spin 
ster.  She  lay  there  so  quiet  that  Teddy  looked 
round  in  astonishment.  His  sister  had  been  lying 
perfectly  still  for  fifteen  minutes.  Such  an 
occurrence  startled  him. 

"Becky,  what's  the  matter?     Sick — hey?" 

"  No,  Teddy,"  replied  Becky,  startled  in  turn ; 
"I'm  thinking  —  that's  all." 

"Don't  do  it.  'Twill  make  you  sick  —  see  if 
it  don't." 

"  I  guess  not,  Teddy,"  replied  Becky,  jumping 
up.  "I'm  going  into  the  kitchen." 

Teddy  followed  her  as  she  left  the  room. 

"  Teddy,"  said  Becky,  solemnly,  after  she  had 
softly  closed  the  kitchen  door  behind  them,  "I 
expect  we're  awful  wicked." 

"Do  you,  though?"  said  Teddy,  with  staring 
eyes.  "  What  for  ?  " 

"  Because  Sunday's  such  a  long  day.  Didn't 
you  hear  what  Aunt  Hulda  said  ?  It's  the  Lord's 
day,  and  we  can  make  it  short  or  long,  just  as 
we  try  to  do  what  he  wants  us  to." 


62  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  Well,  what's  he  want  us  to  do  ?  " 

"  To  go  to  church,  and  not  stay  at  home  and 
pitch  quates." 

"How  are  we  goin'  to  church  without  clo'es? 
My  elbows  are  all  out ;  so's  my  knees.  They'd 
send  us  home  quick,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  suppose  they  would,"  replied  Becky, 
thoughtfully.  "  Well,  there's  one  thing  we 
might  do — carry  something  nice  to  sick  folks." 

"  We  ain't  got  nothin'  nice,  and  don't  know 
any  sick  folks,"  replied  matter-of-fact  Teddy, 
who  failed  to  see  anything  time-shortening  in 
Becky's  project. 

"  We  know  Mr.  York,  who's  got  the  con 
sumption." 

• 

41  Well,  we  might  go  and  catch  some  fish  and 
take  to  him  —  only  I've  lost  my  line." 

"  No ;  something  better  than  that,  Teddy. 
Now  you  run  and  get  a  basket.  I  know  what 
to  take." 

Teddy  went  into  the  wood-shed  and  soon 
returned  with  a  very  dilapidated  basket. 

"  That  will  do  nicely.  Now  let's  see  what  we 
can  find  to  put  into  it,"  said  Becky,  as  she 
opened  the  door  of  the  cupboard.  "  Here's  a 
bottle  of  currant  wine ;  I  guess  that's  good  for 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  63 

consumption ;  we'll  take  that.  And  here's  a  jar 
of  preserves ;  they  always  give  them  to  sick 
folks ;  we'll  take  that.  And  here's  a  box  of  sar 
dines.  I  don't  know  about  that.  Well,  we'll 
take  it,  any  way." 

"  Why,  Becky,  these  things  are  what  Mrs. 
Thompson  sent  to  Aunt  Kulda,"  said  Teddy,  a 
little  alarmed  at  Becky's  proceedings. 

"  So  they  are;  "  and  Becky  wavered  a  moment.. 
"  No  matter ;  she'll  send  her  some  more,  I  guess. 
Besides,  Aunt  Hulda  won't  care,  for  we're  going 
to  do  good  with  them.  There's  a  pair  of  chick 
ens,  too  ;  but  I  guess  they're  most  too  hearty 
for  sick  folks.  Now  let's  be  off." 

With  the  basket  between  them,  they  crept 
into  the  wood-shed,  from  there  into  a  pasture 
behind  the  house,  crossed  that,  climbed  a  fence, 
and  struck  into  the  Foxtown  road.  The  Yorks 
lived  upon  this  road,  a  good  mile  and  a  half 
from  Mrs.  Sleeper's.  The  basket  was  a  heavy, 
unwieldy  affair,  in  which  the  "  good  things " 
bounced  about  in  a  very  unsatisfactory  manner ; 
and  the  couple  "  changed  hands "  many  times 
before  they  reached  their  destination. 

In  answer  to  Becky's  knock,  the  door  was 
opened  by  Mrs.  York,  a  short,  buxom  woman 
with  a  very  pleasant  face. 


04  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  Becky  Sleeper  —  of  all  things!  What  in  the 
world  brought  you  here?  and  what  have  you 
got  there?" 

44  Thought  we'd  come  over  and  bring  some 
thing  to  Mr.  York.  '  He's  sick — ain't  he?" 
answered  Becky. 

44  Why,  you  good  little  soul !  Come  right  in  ; 
my  poor  man  will  be  dreadful  glad  to  see  you." 

Becky  and  Teddy  accepted  the  cordial  invita 
tion,  and  were  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the 
44  poor  man."  Mr.  York  was  by  no  means  so 
far  gone  as  people  imagined.  True,  there  were 
about  him  symptoms  of  the  dread  disease  which 
New  England  makes  a  specialty;  but  he  was  a 
very  lazy  man,  and  took  advantage  of  any  slight 
cold  to  house  himself  and  be  nursed  by  his  wife. 
Mrs.  York  was  not  an  idle  woman ;  she  washed, 
ironed,  and  scrubbed  in  the  neighborhood,  when 
her  husband  worked  at  his  trade;  the  moment 
he  "felt  bad"  she  dropped  all  outside  labor, 
and  gave  her  attention  to  him,  magnifying  his 
troubles  by  her  sympathy,  and  thus  making  a 
44  baby "  of  a  man  who  was  strong  enough  to 
support  his  family,  had  he  the  inclination.  Of 
course,  in  this  state  of  affairs,  there  was  no 
income,  and  the  active  charity  of  Cleverly  had 
a  loud  call  in  that  direction. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  65 

The  room  was  neat  and  tidy ;  the  "  poor  man  " 
lay  upon  a  sofa ;  two  of  the  five  children  with 
which  this  couple  were  blessed  were  playing 
about  the  room ;  two  were  at  church  ;  the  eldest, 
Silly,  was  in  the  next  room,  putting  away  her 
things,  having  just  returned  from  Mrs.  Thomp 
son's. 

"  Only  think,  father,  here's  Becky  and  Teddy 
Sleeper  come  all  the  way  alone  to  bring  you 
something  nice.  Of  all  things !  Why,  Becky, 
I  thought  you  didn't  care  for  anything  but  get 
ting  into  scrapes  and  out  again.  You've  got  a 
good  heart,  any  way  —  ain't  she  father?" 

Father  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  with  a 
faint  "  Yes,  indeed,"  and  fastened  his  eyes  on 
the  basket,  somewhat  more  interested  in  the 
good  things  than  in  the  good  heart. 

"  Empty  your  basket  right  on  to  the  table, 
Becky.  Did  your  mother  send  'em?" 

"  No ;  mother's  sick,"  replied  Becky,  a  little 
defiantly,  for  the  allusion  to  scrapes  had  struck 
her  as  not  exactly  polite  under  the  circumstan- 
stances.  "  No,  Mrs.  York  ;  I  thought  I'd  pick 
up  something  myself.  Here's  a  bottle  of  wine, 
a  jar  of  preserves,  and  a  box  of  sardines,"  plac 
ing  them  upon  the  table.  "  If  they  will  do  Mr. 
York  any  good,  you're  welcome  to  them." 


66  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  Why,  they're  real  nice,  and  we're  ever  so 
much  obliged  to  you,  Becky.  Where  did  you 
get  them?" 

Becky  was  silent  a  moment.  She  had  not 
expected  such  a  question,  was  not  prepared  to 
tell  the  truth,  and  would  not  lie,  lying  being 
an  infirmity  which  she  detested ;  not,  however, 
from  any  prompting  of  her  moral  nature,  but 
because  she  thought  it  a  cowardly  way  of  get 
ting  out  of  a  scrape. 

"  Do  you  think  it  polite,  Mrs.  York,  to  ask 
so  many  questions  when  people  take  the  trouble 
to  bring  you  things  ? "  she  said,  at  last,  with  an 
abused  look  in  her  eyes. 

"No,  I  don't,  Becky,"  replied  Mrs.  York, 
with  a  laugh.  "  It's  real  mean,  and  I'll  say  no 
more.  You're  a  dear,  good  girl,  and  you  deserve 
a  better  bringing  up  than  you're  getting  now. 
Here's  Silly,  —  Silly,  do  look  here ;  see  what 
these  dear  children  have  brought  your  father  — 
wine,  preserves,  sardines!  Ain't  they  kind?" 

Silly  stopped  short  in  the  doorway,  and  looked 
in  astonishment  first  at  the  table  then  at  Becky. 

"  Wine,  preserves,  sardines !  Becky  Sleeper, 
where  did  you  get  those  things  ?" 

"  It's  none  of  your  business,"   replied  Becky. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  67 

u  I    didn't    come  here  to  be   asked  questions." 

"  O,  you  didn't !  "  sneered  Silly.  "  I  know 
where  you  got  'em :  you  stole  'em  !  —  Mother, 
they're  the  very  things  Mrs.  Thompson  sent 
over  to  Hulda  Prime  yesterday  afternoon;  and 
I  took  'em." 

''Land  of  liberty  sakes!  You  don't  mean 
it !  "  cried  Mrs.  York,  with  uplifted  hands. 

"Now,  you  young  ones,  take  them  things 
right  back!"  cried  Silly,  stamping  her  foot  and 
jerking  her  arms  about  in  an  extraordinary 
manner. 

"  1  wouldn't  send  them  back,  Silly,"  said  her 
father,  with  a  faint  hope  of  retaining  the  deli 
cacies,  the  sight  of  which  had  made  his  mouth 
water.  "  Perhaps  Hulda  Prime  sent  'em  !  " 

"  Hulda  Prime,  indeed !  Ketch  her  parting 
with  her  things ;  she's  too  mean,  No ;  they 
shall  go  back,  quick,  too.  "What  would  Mrs. 
Thompson  say?  Don't  you  feel  mean,  Becky 
Sleeper?" 

From  the  color  of  Becky's  face  it  was  evident 
she  was  not  contented  with  the  situation.  As 
for  Teddy,  he  was  terrified,  expecting  every 
moment  the  swinging  arms  of  Silly  would  be 
attracted  to  the  vicinity  of  his  ears. 


68  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"Now,  off  with  you,"  continued  Silly,  tossing 
the  articles  into  the  basket ;  "  and  don't  you 
ever  show  your  faces  here  again.  Purty  capers 
you  cut  up,  Becky  Sleeper,"  picking  up  the 
basket.  "  Here,  take  hold  of  it,"  opening  the 
door.  "Now,  start  yourselves,  quick,  or  I'll 
know  the  reason  why." 

Bang  went  the  door,  and  the  charitable  party 
were  in  the  road,  with  the  rejected  offering  still 
upon  their  hands.  They  stood  a  moment  look 
ing  at  each  other  and  the  closed  door  behind 
them,  Becky's  face  crimson  with  shame,  Teddy's 
eyes,  now  that  he  was  out  of  danger,  blazing 
with  anger. 

"Well,  well,"  sputtered  Teddy,  "here's  a 
purty  kettle  of  fish.  Nice  scrape  you've  got  us 
in  now,  Becky  Sleeper!  You  ought  to  know 
better." 

"  Aunt  Hulda  said  this  was  the  Lord's  work," 
answered  Becky,  meekly.  "  I  was  only  trying 
to  make  the  day  short  and  pleasant." 

"  Well,  if  it's  the  Lord's  work,  you've  made 
a  botch  of  it ;  and  if  he  sent  you  here,  he  made 
a  mistake  in  the  house." 

"Don't  talk  so,  Teddy;  it's  wicked." 

"It's  wickeder  to    have    to    lug    that    basket 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  69 

way  round  home  again.  I  won't  do  it.  Let's 
chuck  it  in  the  water." 

•4  No,  no,  Teddy ;  let's  take  it  home.  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  Silly  York  could  be  so 
mean.  Poor  as  they  are,  too  !  " 

"  I  should  think  so !  Folks  don't  get  sardines 
and  currant  wine  every  day." 

"  Come,  let's  go  the  shortest  way,    Teddy." 

They  took  up  the  basket,  and  started  home 
ward.  The  shortest  way  was  by  the  main  street, 
and  as  they  entered  it  they  met  the  people 
coming  from  church.  So,  with  down-cast  faces, 
the  disappointed  almoners  ran  the  gantlet  of 
wondering  eyes,  attracted  by  the  uncommon 
sight  of  two  poorly-dressed  youngsters  lugging 
a  heavy  basket  on  Sunday. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Becky  was  mor 
tified  at  the  condition  in  which  she  found  her 
self.  As  she  passed  neatly-dressed  girls  of  her 
own  age,  and  heard  the  laughter  which  they 
took  no  pains  to  suppress,  her  old,  defiant  man- 
ner  failed  to  assert  itself,  and  she  hung  her 
head  in  shame.  To  add  to  her  humiliation, 
when  they  reached  the  church,  Captain  Thomp 
son  was  standing  on  the  steps  talking  with  the 
sexton. 


70  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  Heavens  and  earth !  What  new  caper's 
this?"  he  shouted,  making  a  dash  at  the  cul 
prits. 

Becky,  having  her  head  down,  had  not  seen 
the  captain,  but  she  heard  his  voice  and  recog 
nized  it.  She  gave  one  startled  look,  dropped 
the  basket,  and  ran.  Teddy  was  not  slow  in 
following  her  example.  The  captain  made  a 
motion  as  if  to  follow  them,  but  giving  a  thought 
to  the  day,  and  perhaps  another  to  the  steepness 
of  the  hill  they  were  rapidly  descending,  changed 
his  mind,  picked  up  the  basket,  and  entered  his 
house. 

Becky  and  her  accomplice  made  no  stops  until 
they  reached  home.  They  dashed  into  the  sit 
ting-room,  breathless  and  frightened. 

"  Massy  sakes  !  do  you  want  to  take  the  house 
down?"  cried  Aunt  Hulda.  "What  on  airth's 
the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  Aunt  Hulda,  I  don't  believe  you  know  a 
thing  about  making  Sunday  short  and  pleasant," 
said  Becky,  indignantly.  "  I've  tried  it,  and  it's 
just  as  hateful  a  way  of  having  a  good  time  as 
ever  I  saw." 

"  Tried  it !     Tried  what  ?  "  cried  Aunt  Hulda. 

"  Carrying  nice  things  to  sick  folks,  and  get 
ting  snubbed  for  your  pains,"  said  Becky. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  71 

"  Yes,  and  gittin'  yer  shins  barked  with  plaguy 
big  baskets,"  added  Teddy. 

44  Carrying  things!  What  have  you  carried? 
Where  have  you  been?" 

"  Currant  wine,  preserves  and  sardines ! "  sput 
tered  Teddy. 

"  Yes,  to  Mr.  York ;  and  got  turned  out  of 
doors,"  added  Becky. 

44  Currant  wine  !  Heavens  and  airth !  "  scream 
ed  Aunt  Hulda,  jumping  up  and  darting  into 
the  kitchen  with  an  activity  she  seldom  dis 
played. 

She  flew  to  the  cupboard,  gave  one  look, 
uttered  a  dismal  groan,  and  darted  back  to  the 
sitting-room. 

44  You  hateful  young  one,  you've  stolen  my 
things!  What  do  you  mean?"  she  cried,  seiz 
ing  Becky  by  the  shoulder,  and  shaking  her. 
44  Is  that  the  way  you  rob  a  poor,  afflicted  cree- 
ter?  What  have  you  done  with  them?  Where 
are  they?" 

44  Don't  care  where  they  are !  Wish  they 
were  at  the  bottom  of  the  river  !  Quit  shaking 
me!" 

44  Guess  they're  safe,  Aunt  Hulda,"  said  Teddy, 
with  a  grin.  44  Cap'n  Thompson's  got  'em." 


72  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  Cap'n  Thompson !  "  gasped  Aunt  Hulda,  star- 
ing  at  Teddy.  In  his  hands  she  felt  they  were 
indeed  safe.  It  was  too  much.  She  dropped 
Becky,  tottered  to  the  sofa,  and  added  a  fit  of 
hysterics  to  the  catalogue  of  her  numerous  ail 
ments. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  78 


CHAPTER    V. 

IN   SCHOOL  AND  OUT. 

j|HE  dazzlingly  white  school-house  opposite 
Captain  Thompson's  mansion  was  not 
used  for  the  public  school,  which, 
under  the  state  law,  was  necessarily  kept  in 
operation  at  least  four  months  in  the  year,  and 
for  whose  support  the  people  of  Cleverly  were 
taxed.  That  institution  was  situated  at  a  point 
nearer  the  fore  side,  a  short  distance  from  the 
main  street,  and  was  in  rather  a  dilapidated 
condition.  In  those  days  country  people  had  not 
that  pride  in  handsome  and  commodious  school- 
houses  which  is  now  eminently  a  characteristic 
of  New  England  villages  ;  and  this  crazy  edifice 
was  likely  to  serve  the  purpose  for  which  it  had 
been  erected,  years  and  years  before,  until  it 
should  crumble  to  pieces  with  age  or  be  swept 
into  a  pile  of  kindling-wood  by  the  fury  of  a 
March  gale. 


74  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Captain  Thompson,  as  a  member  of  the  school 
committee,  had  endeavored  many  times  to  have 
the  old  shell  supplanted  by  a  better  building,  or 
at  least  placed  on  a  more  secure  footing  ;  but 
in  vain.  His  associates — Messrs.  Penny  wise  and 
Poundfoolish — strictly  opposed  reconstruction  in 
any  form. 

"It  was  good  enough  for  us;  and  what  was 
good  enough  for  us  is  good  enough  for  our 
young  ones,"  was  not  a  very  sound  argument ; 
but,  as  it  satisfied  the  majority,  the  captain  was 
obliged  to  give  way.  He  then  carried  the  mat 
ter  before  the  town  meeting,  with  no  better 
success.  There  was  a  strong  opposition  to  any 
measure  he  brought  forward  for  the  improve 
ment  of  the  school  estate.  Not  even  a  bundle 
of  shingles  or  a  pound  of  nails  could  be  had  for 
repairs.  The  "good-enough"  argument  prevailed 
here ;  and  the  captain  was  vanquished. 

Then  his  obstinacy  asserted  itself.  He  with 
drew  from  the  school  committee,  bought  the 
land  opposite  his  house,  took  men  from  his  ship 
yard,  hired  all  the  carpenters  he  could  find,  and 
in  less  than  two  months  had  a  very  neat  and 
commodious  school-house  of  his  own.  This  he 
leased  to  Rufus  Drinkwater,  the  best  teacher  the 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  75 

public  school  ever  had,  —  a  man  generally  es 
teemed  by  the  good  folks  of  Cleverly, — and  com 
menced  a  warfare  against  the  ancient  establish 
ment.  Drinkwater's  term  opened  a  month  earlier 
than  the  public,  the  charge  for  tuition  was  very 
low,  and  the  captain  gave  notice  that  he  was 
prepared  to  pay  the  bills,  if  children  wanted  to 
come  to  "my  school/'  and  parents  felt  unable 
to  incur  further  expense  for  schooling  than  that 
to  which  they  were  subjected  by  the  state  tax. 

The  committee-men  laughed  when  they  saw 
"  Thompson's  Folly,"  as  they  styled  the  new 
edifice,  going  up.  But  when  they  saw  the  chil 
dren  going  in,  —  and  a  very  respectable  proces 
sion  they  made,  —  and  looked  into  their  almost 
deserted  quarters,  they  groaned  in  spirit,  forgot 
the  dignity  of  office,  and  railed  in  unbecoming 
terms  at  the  "underhand  tricks"  of  their  suc 
cessful  opponent. 

There  was  a  satisfied  look  upon  the  captain's 
face  as  he  stepped  into  the  road  Monday  morn 
ing,  followed  by  his  man-of-all-work.  About  the 
door  of  the  school-house  were  gathered  a  dozen 
or  so  of  young  people,  awaiting  the  appearance 
of  the  teacher.  It  was  only  half  past  eight ; 
and  this  assembly  at  so  early  an  hour  gave 
promise  of  a  successful  opening. 


76  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"Well,  well,  little  folks,  this  looks  well,  this 
looks  well,*'  said  the  great  man,  good  humored- 
ly,  as  he  entered  the  circle.  " 4  It's  the  early 
bird  that  catches  the  worm,'  and  its  the  early 
chicks  that  pick  up  the  largest  crumbs  at  the 
bountiful  table  of  learning." 

The  "  chicks "  looked  a  little  crestfallen  as 
the  captain  passed  among  them,  patting  a  head 
here,  and  chucking  a  chin  there;  for  to  boys 
and  girls  ranging  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  of 
age,  these  babyish  appellations  and  familiarities 
are  not  cordially  welcome. 

"Phil,  unlock  the  door.  —  Everything's  in 
order,  nice  and  clean ;  and  be  sure  you  keep  it 
so,  little  folks." 

44  And  mind,  darlin's,  it's  the  captain  that's 
done  it  all,"  put  in  Phil,  as  he  unlocked  the 
door.  "  Niver  be  ungrateful,  for  it  is  a  warm 
heart  has  the  captain,  though  he  doesn't  always 
show  it  in  his  face." 

14  Come,  come,  Phil,  none  of  that,"  cried  the 
captain,  a  flash  of  " ugliness"  springing  to  his 
face  to  give  color  to  Phil's  remark.  "Mind  your 
own  business,  and  open  the  door." 

44  There  yez  are,"  said  Phil,  throwing  open 
the  door.  44  In  wid  yez,  and  have  a  raal  foine 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  77 

frolic  afore  the  schoolmasther  comes.  Howld  on 
a  bit.  Three  cheers  for  yer  binefacthor  —  Cap 
tain  Thompson.  Now:  one,  two,  three,  and 
away  you  go  !  " 

Phil  led  off  with  a  cheer,  in  which  the  young 
people  heartly  joined.  The  captain  turned  down 
the  hill,  followed  by  Phil  and  the  continued 
cheers  of  the  scholars,  who,  once  started,  were 
not  contented  with  anything  short  of  three  times 
three,  though  whether  the  thought  of  their 
benefactor  or  the  sound  of  their  own  voices 
contributed  more  to  their  enthusiasm,  would  have 
been  no  hard  matter  to  decide. 

The  captain,  evidently  impressed  wjth  the 
idea  that  the  young  Sleepers  were  to  be  driven 
to  school  like  unruly  cattle,  was  armed  with  his 
whip,  and,  that  there  might  be  no  defeat  of  his 
project,  had  furnished  Phil  with  a  stout  stick, 
and  bade  him  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  the  young 
sters  until  they  were  safe  in  the  school-house. 
Phil  followed  meekly,  with  his  weapon  under 
his  arm  and  a  broad  grin  on  his  face,  for  the 
comicality  of  the  situation  highly  delighted  the 
warm-hearted  Hibernian,  with  whom  the  young 
people  were  such  favorites  that,  had  they  medi 
tated  an  escape,  he  would  have  managed,  by 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

some  native  blunder,  to  aid,  and  not  impede,  their 
attempt. 

To  the  utter  astonishment  of  the  captain, 
when  they  reached  the  house,  a  transformation 
had  been  accomplished.  On  a  block  in  the  yard 
sat  Teddy,  with  a  clean  face,  smoothly-brushed 
hair,  clothes  well  patched,  to  be  sure,  but  with 
out  a  rent,  and,  strangest  of  all,  shoes  and 
stockings  on  his  feet.  Becky  sat  in  the  door 
way,  with  an  open  book  in  her  lap,  hair  well 
brushed  and  curled,  frock  mended,  clean  apron, 
polished  shoes,  and  white  stockings.  All  this 
was  the  work  of  Hulda  Prime.  Either  in  grati 
tude  to  JMrs.  Thompson,  who  had  quickly  returned 
the  purloined  goodies,  with  the  request  that  the 
children  be  made  presentable,  or  from  a  desire 
to  astonish  her  enemy,  Hulda  had  risen  at  an 
early  hour,  aroused  the  sleepers,  washed,  brushed, 
and  mended  with  an  energy  that  surprised  even 
the  dreamy  mother,  and,  after  a  lesson  in  good 
behaviour,  had  set  her  charge  out  to  dry,  until 
the  arrival  of  the  captain. 

Becky  had  taken  the  matter  very  coolly. 
When  told  she  was  going  to  school  that  day, 
she  said,  — 

"Why,  Teddy  and  I  were  going  up  to  the 
Basin  to-day." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  79 

"Yes,  rafting,"  said  Teddy.  "It's  plaguy 
mean  to  spoil  a  fellow's  fun." 

"No  matter,"  replied  Becky,  with  a  knowing 
nod  of  the  head ;  "  guess  we'll  go  after  school, 
any  way." 

"When  thoroughly  scoured  and  adorned,  she 
took  a  large  book,  and  sat  in  the  doorway, 
where  the  captain  found  her. 

"Well,  young  ones,  what  is  it  —  peace  or 
war?  Will  you  go  to  school  quietly,  or  must 
we  drive  you?"  said  the  captain,  when  he 
had  recovered  from  his  surprise. 

"  You  won't  drive  us,  captain,"  said  Becky, 
looking  up,  with  a  smile.  "  It  would  be  too 
hard  work.  We're  going  quietly — ain't  we, 
Teddy  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  we're  let  alone.  Ain't  going  to  be 
lugged  like  a  calf  to  the  slaughter-house,  any 
way,"  grumbled  Teddy. 

"You'd  better,"  growled  the  captain.  "I 
ain't  forgot  your  capers  in  my  orchard.  I'm 
just  itching  to  pay  off  that  score.  But  I'll  call 
it  square  if  you  give  me  no  trouble  now." 

"All  right,  captain,"  replied  Becky;  "We'll 
go.  I've  been  preparing  myself  for  torture  in 
this  blessed  book." 


80  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"What  book's  that —the  Bible,  hey?"  said 
the  captain. 

"  It's  '  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,'  captain ;  but 
I  can't  find  anything  about  school  in  ?t." 

"  Pshaw!"  said  the  captain;  "let  such  books 
alone.  Come,  stir  your  stumps,  or  you'll  be 
late.  Now,  recollect,  if  you  give  me  any  trou 
ble—" 

44  Cap'n  Thompson,  you  needn't  be  afraid  of 
them  young  ones;  they  won't  eat  you!"  cried 
Aunt  Hulda,  sticking  her  head  out  of  the 
kitchen  doorway.  "  If  you  and  that  big  Irish 
lubber  can't  handle  'em,  better  call  on  the  com 
mittee  ;  they'll  help  you." 

The  taunt  was  so  bitter  that  the  captain 
raised  his  whip ;  but,  recollecting  the  sex  of  his 
opponent,  he  turned  away,  with  a  muttered 
44  Hang  it ! "  and  strode  into  the  road.  Teddy 
and  Becky  followed,  and  Phil  brought  up  the 
rear.  The  march  schoolward  was  devoid  of  stir 
ring  incidents.  Occasionally  Becky,  annoyed  at 
the  strict  guard  kept  over  them,  would  dart  to 
the  side  of  the  road.  The  captain  and  Phil 
would  run  after  her,  only  to  find  her  picking  a 
flower,  or  cutting  a  switch.  The  captain  would 
stalk  on  again,  and  the  captives  would  exchange 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  81 

mischievous  glances,  while  Phil  would  grow  led 
in  the  face  with  suppressed  laughter. 

The  captain  had  consumed  more  time  than  he 
intended  in  mustering  his  recruits ;  and  it  was 
past  nine  o'clock  when  he  reached  the  school- 
house.  His  "  chicks,"  having  exhausted  their 
stock  of  cheers,  had  filed  into  the  school-room, 
and  not  averse  to  Phil's  recommendation,  had 
indulged  in  a  noisy  but  good-humored  frolic,  in 
which  they  were  joined  by  some  twenty  later 
arrivals.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  an  animated 
game  of  tag,  when  three  distinct  raps  upon  the 
teacher's  desk  made  them  aware  of  the  presence 
of  a  stranger.  In  an  instant  there  was  profound 
silence  in  the  room,  and  all  eyes  were  turned 
upon  the  new-comer.  He  was  a  young  man,  of 
medium  height,  broad-shouldered  and  full-chested, 
every  movement  of  his  person  showing  in  its 
powerful  grace  the  effects  of  physical  culture 
and  out-door  exercise.  His  face  was  equally 
powerful ;  piercing  black  eyes,  browned  skin, 
and  a  determined  lock  of  the  under  jaw,  showed 
a  strong  will  and  a  daring  spirit.  Yet  an  occa 
sional  comical  quiver  about  his  eyes,  and  a  lift 
ing  of  his  slight  moustache  by  a  half  smile,  and 
a  genial  glow  of  good  humor  which  beamed 
6 


82  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

through  its  sternness,  as  the  ruddy  cheek  glowed 
under  the  brown  coating,  gave  token  of  the 
nobility  of  power,  by  its  kinship  to  gentleness 
and  good  humor.  To  all  this  were  added  a  high 
forehead  and  an  abundance  of  short,  curly  locks, 
so  that  the  person  of  the  stranger  was  not  only 
calculated  to  command  respect,  but  admiration 
as  well. 

"My  young  friends,"  said  he,  "I  bear  a  mes 
sage  from  your  teacher.  He  was  taken  suddenly 
ill  last  Friday  night ;  he  is  somewhat  better  this 
morning,  we  think,  but  unable  to  be  here  with 
you.  He  has  asked  me  to  take  his  place,  and 
wishes  you  to  be  patient  with  one  who  is  a 
new  hand  at  keeping  school.  That's  myself," 
with  a  smile.  "Will  you  take  me?" 

"O,  yes,   sir!"     "Yes,   sir!"   in  full   chorus. 

"  Very  well.  I  think  we  can  agree.  Take 
your  places  —  boys  on  the  left,  girls  on  the  right, 
as  usual." 

There  were  three  rows  of  forms  on  each  side, 
for  the  scholars,  with  a  broad  open  space  between ; 
there  was  a  platform  at  the  farther  end,  for 
recitations ;  the  teacher's  desk  faced  this,  on  a 
corresponding  platform  at  the  left  of  the  door, 
and  behind  his  desk  was  a  blackboard  affixed 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  83 

to  the  wall.  The  room  was  lighted  by  three 
windows  on  each  side,  and  one  at  the  farther 
end. 

The  scholars  quickly  took  their  places,  and 
Mr.  Drinkwater's  substitute  seated  himself  at 
the  desk,  opened  the  record  book,  and  com 
menced  calling  the  names  of  the  scholars  of  the 
last  term  in  alphabetical  order.  He  was  among 
the  D's,  had  reached  the  name  of  Hosea  Davis, 
when  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Captain 
Thompson  stalked  into  the  room,  followed  by 
Becky  and  Teddy. 

"  Here  Drinkwater,  here's  a  couple  of  eels 
that  want  training." 

The  substitute  raised  his  head  quickly. 

"Harry  Thompson!" 

"  Yes,  sir,  Harry  Thompson,."  said  the  stranger, 
rising.  "  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir." 

The  captain  did  not  look  well.  He  turned 
pale,  and  stared  at  his  son  as  though  he  could 
not  believe  his  eyes. 

"  Wh-wh-what  does  this  mean  ?  Why  are  you 
here?  Where's  Drinkwater?" 

"  Mr.  Drinkwater  is  ill,  sir ;  taken  suddenly 
last  Friday.  I  have  been  stopping  with  him  for 
a  few  days,  and  he  requested  me  to  open  his 
school  to-day." 


84  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  He's  no  business  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 
This  is  my  school;  and  I  won't  have  it." 

The  captain  was  getting  angry, 

"  I  understood  him  to  say  that  the  school- 
house  was  leased  to  him,  and  that  he  was 
expected  to  get  a  substitute  when  unable  to 
attend  himself." 

"  So  he  is ;  but  not  you,  sir,  not  you.  I  don't 
want  any  of  your  teaching.  S'pose  you'll  teach 
these  young  ones  to  disobey  their  fathers,  and 
run  off.  No,  sir.  You  are  at  liberty.  I'll  teach 
myself." 

"  That  is  a  point  you  must  settle  with  Mr. 
Drinkwater,"  said  the  young  man,  quietly.  "  I 
have  taken  command  here,  and,  without  mean 
ing  to  be  disrespectful,  propose  to  hold  my  posi 
tion  until  relieved  by  Mr.  Drinkwater." 

The  captain  absolutely  foamed  with   rage. 

"  You're  an  impudent  puppy.  You've  no  bus 
iness  here,  no  business  in  the  place.  You've 
disgraced  yourself.  After  what  I've  done  for 
you,  too ! "  And  the  captain  went  into  partic 
ulars  as  to  what  he  had  done,  commencing  a 
long  way  back  in  the  young  man's  history,  and 
without  giving  his  son  a  chance  to  speak,  grow 
ing  louder  and  fiercer  as  his  tongue  flew  the 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  85 

faster.  He  was  suddenly  brought  to  a  stop  by 
a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  children.  He  turned 
to  them  in  amazement,  but  not  by  him  was 
their  merriment  caused. 

While  the  captain  was  giving  vent  to  his 
troubles,  Miss  Becky  had  stepped  upon  the  plat 
form,  picked  up  a  crayon,  and  commenced  oper 
ations  on  the  blackboard.  As  she  proceeded,  all 
eyes,  with  the  exception  of  those  belonging  to 
the  captain  and  his  son,  were  fastened  upon 
her ;  and  the  completion  of  her  picture  had 
brought  forth  the  interrupting  roar. 

Becky  had  one  talent  which  had  long  been 
hid ;  she  had  a  genius  for  drawing  ;  but  never 
before  had  this  peculiar  talent  been  paraded  for 
public  inspection. 

But  here,  as  skillfully  executed  as  chalk  would 
allow,  was  a  drawing  representing  "  Old  Uncle 
Ned"  at  full  gallop,  Becky  seated  upon  his 
back,  and  the  captain  in  full  pursuit  —  so  well 
done,  that  the  captain,  following  the  direction 
of  all  eyes,  instantly  recognized  it.  Incensed  he 
made  a  dart  at  Becky ;  but  the  nimble  artist 
dodged  him,  and  fled  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
room.  This  produced  another  roar  from  the 
scholars.  The  captain  checked  his  pursuit,  turned 


86  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

about,  and  fled  from  the  room,  banging  the  door 
behind  him. 

Harry  Thompson  rapped  the  desk,  and  com 
manded  silence. 

"  Miss  Becky  Sleeper,  remove  that  drawing 
from  the  blackboard  at  once,"  he  said  sternly. 

Becky  looked  up  at  him  with  a  mischievous 
smile,  which  instantly  disappeared,  as  she  met 
his  eye.  She  meekly  obeyed,  and  the  picture 
vanished. 

"  Now,  take  your  place.  You,  too,  Master 
Teddy." 

Teddy  went  over  among  the  boys,  and  Becky 
followed  him.  Another  roar  from  the  scholars. 

"  Silence  !  "  from  the  teacher.  "  Miss  Becky, 
you  will  take  your  place  among  the  girls,  where 
you  belong." 

Becky  went  the  whole  length  of  the  room, 
scowling  at  the  girls,  who  had  laughed  at  her 
blunder,  and  took  a  seat  by  the  window. 

Harry  concluded  his  record  by  affixing  the 
names  of  Teddy  and  Becky,  who  were  the  only 
new  scholars. 

"  The  exercises  will  be  very  short  this  morn 
ing,  and  there  will  be  but  one  session.  I  shall 
only  call  upon  you  to  read ;  that  concluded,  you 
will  be  dismissed  for  the  day." 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  87 

He  then  commenced  with  the  boy  nearest  him, 
calling  upon  them  separately  to  read — first  a 
6oy,  then  a  girl,  in  regular  succession.  They 
made  their  own  selections,  and  with  varied  suc 
cess.  There  were  some  good  readers,  none  very 
bad,  until  they  reached  Teddy.  He  stepped 
upon  the  platform,  and  read  "  Casabianca  "  some 
what  in  this  style  : — 

"  *  The  boy  stood  on  the — b-u-r-n-i-n-g  —  burning  deck, 
Whence  —  whence  — whence  all  butim  had  sled  —  no,  fled; 
The  flames  that  lit  the  batil  wreck 
Shine  —  shown — show  —  round  him  o'er  the  dead  ; '  " 

which,  of  course,  excited  a  laugh.  It  was  now 
Becky's  turn,  and  she  was  called.  She  did  not 
move.  She  could  read  no  better  than  Teddy, 
and  she  was  determined  not  to  be  laughed  at. 

"  Becky  Sleeper,  take  the  platform ! "  said  the 
teacher,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"I  won't  —  there!  I  didn't  come  to  school 
to  you :  Mr.  Drinkwater's  my  teacher." 

Harry  Thompson  stepped  from  his  desk.  The 
lower  jaw  came  up  with  an  ominous  snap.  He 
went  to  where  Becky  sat  kicking  the  form  before 
her,  and  looked  down  at  her.  She  appeared  so 
little,  that  his  anger  at  her  sauciness  vanished 
at  once. 

"  Becky,  you  and  I  will  have  a  private  session 


88  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

after  school.  You  will  read  to  me  then,  I  think, 
for  old  acquaintance's  sake,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile,  and  returned  to  his  desk.  "  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you  all  for  your  attention. 
School  is  dismissed.  Becky  Sleeper  will  remain." 

There  was  a  rush  for  out  doors,  and  the 
school-room  was  quickly  cleared  of  all  but  Becky 
and  the  teacher.  Teddy  had  lingered  a  moment 
to  exchange  a  word  with  Becky,  in  which  "  the 
Basin,"  and  "  wait  outside,"  might  be  distin 
guished,  and  then  had  taken  his  leave. 

"  Now,  Becky,  let  me  hear  you  read." 

Becky  arose,  but  instead  of  stepping  to  the 
platform,  marched  straight  for  the  door.  But 
not  quite  fast  enough,  for  Harry  stepped  before 
her,  closed  the  door,  and  locked  it. 

"  Becky,"  said  he,  "  the  first  duty  to  be 
learned  in  school  is  obedience  to  the  teacher. 
Go  to  the  platform ! " 

Becky  looked  up  at  him  with  defiance  in  her 
glance. 

"  Harry  Thompson,  you're  just  as  mean  as 
you  can  be.  You  let  those  boys  and  girls  laugh 
at  Teddy  and  now  you  want  to  laugh  at  me. 
I  won't  read." 

"Go  to  the  platform." 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  89 

Becky  turned  and  went  to  the  platform,  and 
farther  yet ;  she  threw  up  the  window,  and 
jumped  upon  the  sill,  and  all  very  quickly. 
Harry  saw  her  intention  at  once. 

"  Becky,  Becky,  don't  do  that,"  he  cried, 
running  towards  her.  "  It's  ten  feet.  You'll 
break  your  neck." 

"  Don't  care.  I  won't  read  ;  "  and  she  leaped. 
There  was  a  rustling  and  tearing  among  the  foli 
age  beneath  the  window ;  but  when  Harry  reached 
it,  Becky  was  invisible. 


DO  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BECKY'S  LAST  FKOLIC. 

^EDDY  SLEEPER  obeyed  Becky's  injunc 
tion  to  wait  outside,  by  passing  round 
the  school-house,  and  down  the  hill, 
to  the  window  at  the  end,  that  he  might  be  in 
readiness  should  she  desire  to  signal  him  during 
her  confinement.  He  was  just  in  time  to  wit 
ness  her  descent.  She  plumped  into  a  cluster 
of  bushes,  and  for  a  moment  was  lost  to  sight. 
Even  this  terrific  leap  did  not  surprise  the 
phlegmatic  Teddy,  who  had  such  an  exalted 
opinion  of  his  sister's  prowess,  that,  had  she 
jumped  from  the  steeple  of  the  church,  he 
would  have  expected  her  to  pick  herself  up  as 
coolly  as  she  did  now,  emerging  from  the  bushes 
with  ruffled  plumage,  but  without  a  scratch  or 
bruise. 

"  Well,  Becky,  got  out  sooner  than  I  thought 
you  would.     Did  he  make  you  read?" 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  91 

"  No,  he  didn't,"  replied  Becky,  with  a  sneer. 
u  It  will  take  a  smarter  teacher  than  him  to 
make  me  do  what  I  don't  want  to.  He's  noth 
ing  but  a  boy." 

"  What  will  the  captain  say  now,  Becky  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  says.  Guess  he  don't 
like  the  teacher  any  better  than  I  do.  Come, 
let's  get  away  from  here ;  he'll  be  after  us." 

"  That's  so.     Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

44  Where  we  were  going  this  morning.  We've 
got  time  to  4  shoot  the  Basin'  before  dinner." 

So  saying,  Becky,  whose  hasty  exit  from  the 
school-room  had  not  allowed  her  to  gain  posses 
sion  of  her  hat,  started  off  bareheaded,  followed 
by  Teddy,  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  towards 
the  Corner. 

Harry  Thompson  inherited  a  streak  of .  the 
obstinacy  which  was  so  apparent  in  his  father. 
As  Becky  disappeared  from  one  side  of  the  win 
dow,  he  rushed  from  the  other,  caught  up  his 
hat,  unlocked  the  door,  and  hastened  down  the 
hill,  only  to  see  his  unruly  pupil  climbing  a 
fence  twenty  rods  away.  This  convinced  him 
that  no  bones  had  been  broken.  But  he  was 
not  inclined  to  let  the  matter  drop  here ;  so  he 
returned  to  the  school-room,  made  all  secure, 
and  then  started  in  pursuit. 


92  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

As  he  moved  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  the 
leading  event  of  the  morning  was  uppermost  in 
his  thoughts.  The  appearance  of  his  father  in 
the  school-room  had  not  been  unexpected,  and 
the  explanation  he  had  given  of  his  own  pres 
ence  there  was  perfectly  true.  Mr.  Drinkwater 
was  ill,  and  had  sent  him  as  a  substitute.  Harry, 
who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  new  school- 
house  affair,  had,  after  consultation  with  his 
mother,  who  visited  him  daily  at  Mr.  Drink- 
water's  residence,  where  he  was  domiciled  for 
the  express  purpose  of  meeting  her,  accepted 
the  position  that  he  might  try  the  temper  of  his 
father,  and  pave  the  way  to  a  reconciliation,  if 
that  were  possible.  He  was  quietly  awaiting 
the  conclusion  of  the  captain's  vehement  review 
of  "what  he  had  done  for  him,"  when  he 
expected  to  have  an  opportunity  to  say  a  word 
in  his  own  defence ;  but  Miss  Becky's  exhibi 
tion  of  clialJcotype  art  interrupted  the  contem 
plated  plea,  and  sadly  disarranged  his  plans. 
His  only  consolation  was,  that  Mr.  Drinkwater 
would  not  be  able  to  take  charge  of  the  school 
for  several  days,  and  another  meeting  might  be 
possible. 

Becky,  in  her  turn,    occupied  a  share  of  his 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  93 

thoughtful  attention.  He  had  looked  forward 
with  pleasure  to  the  meeting  with  his  little 
playmate,  fully  expecting  that  the  years  which 
had  wrought  so  much  change  in  his  character, 
would  have  shaped  the  little  maid,  of  "whom  he 
was  so  fondv —  with  her  quick  wit  and  active 
spirit,  —  into  something  better  than  the  hoiden 
he  found  her.  Her  saucy  movements,  her  rough 
appearance,  and  her  rudeness,  had  startled  him ; 
but,  remembering  the  influences  by  which  she 
was  surrounded  at  home,  and  the  artistic 
touch  displayed  at  the  blackboard,  he  was  con 
vinced  that  in  that  little  body  were  capabilities 
running  to  waste,  which,  trained  aright,  might 
blossom  into  usefulness.  If  his  good  mother  only 
had  the  trailing  of  this  wild  vine,  it  would  flourish 
in  fruitfulness,  and  not  cumber  the  ground.  It 
was  not  yet  too  late.  He  would  take  his  mother 
into  his  confidence. 

Full  of  thoughts  like  these,  Harry  went  on, 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  runaway,  until 
he  reached  the  paper-mill  at  the  Corner.  Here 
he  was  informed  that  the  young  Sleepers  had 
gone  farther  up  the  river's  bank.  Undecided 
whether  to  go  on  or  retrace  his  steps,  he  passed 
\nto  the  mill,  and,  meeting  his  old  friend,  Mark 


94  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Small,  went  over  the  building  with  him,  viewing 
the  improvements,  in  which  he  became  so  much 
interested  that  he  quite  forgot  the  object  of  his 
expedition. 

In  the  mean  time,  Becky  and  Teddy  had, 
after  a  long  tramp,  and  with  no  small  vaulting 
of  fences  and  climbing  of  rocks,  reached  the 
Basin. 

Rogue's  River,  the  base  of  Becky's  future 
operations,  was  dammed  at  three  points.  The 
lower  dam  was  at  the  fore  side,  the  middle  dam 
just  above  the  school-house,  and  the  upper  dam 
at  the  Corner.  Here  was  located  Small's  paper- 
mill,  not  a  very  extensive  affair,  but  which 
employed  a  dozen  men  and  as  many  girls.  In 
the  middle  of  the  river,  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  above  this  mill,  was  a  small  island,  scarcely 
twenty  feet  in  circumference,  on  which  flourished 
a  wild  growth  of  unproductive  bushes,  with 
one  solitary  sentinel  of  a  tree  in  their  centre ; 
and  above  this  was  the  Basin.  Into  this  basin, 
after  a  winding  flow  of  ten  or  twelve  miles, 
increased  by  several  minor  streams,  the  water 
poured  with  considerable  power.  It  lay  in  the 
form  of  a  heart,  so  often  depicted  on  valentines, 
or  moulded  in  sugar  for  the  sweet-toothed.  It 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  95 

was  about  thirty  feet  from  bank  to  bank,  and 
about  the  same  distance  from  the  point  of 
entrance  to  the  island,  which  shooting  into  it, 
gave  it  a  resemblance  to  the  emblem  of  affection. 
Divided  by  this  island,  the  water  swept  along 
on  either  side  in  strong,  swift  currents.  When 
Harry  Thompson,  as  leader  of  the  boys  of  Cle 
verly,  had  exhausted  all  the  known  means  of 
amusement,  his  daring  spirit  suggested  a  diffi 
cult  feat,  calculated  to  carry  dismay  to  the 
hearts  of  his  followers,  and  cause  uneasiness  to 
those  parents  who  had  an  interest  in  the  safety 
of  their  children.  He  not  only  suggested  it, 
but  himself  performed  it,  and  succeeded  in  induc 
ing  a  few  of  the  boldest  to  follow  his  example. 
This  feat  was  known  as  "  shooting  the  Basin.'* 
Into  the  winding  river  he  launched  a  log,  of 
which  there  were  many  lying  along  the  banks, 
a  mill  hand  being  employed  at  this  point  to 
draw  them  out  of  the  stream.  Upon  this  he 
stepped,  with  a  long,  narrow  strip  of  board  to 
serve  as  a  rudder,  with  which  to  guide  his  craft. 
The  force  of  the  stream  swiftly  carried  him  into 
the  Basin  and  towards  the  island.  It  was  only 
necessary  to  keep  "  her  head "  straight,  and  the 
island  was  reached. 

He  accomplished   the   feat,    well   knowing   the 


96  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

danger  he  incurred ;  for,  had  his  craft  swerved 
either  to  the  right  or  left,  he  would  have  been 
capsized  or  carried  down  the  river.  Of  course 
there  could  be  no  returning  in  the  same  man 
ner.  But,  to  prevent  his  becoming  a  Robinson 
Crusoe,  a  tree  on  the  bank  was  felled  so  as  to 
bridge  the  stream  from  the  bank  to  the  island ; 
and  there  it  had  remained  ever  since. 

Becky  Sleeper,  having  seen  Harry  perform 
this  feat,  had  desired  to  undertake  it ;  but  Harry 
had  strongly  objected,  and  the  tomboy,  having 
accepted  him  as  a  leader,  was  obliged  to  post 
pone  the  attempt. 

Some  recent  conversations  on  old  sports  between 
Teddy  and  herself  had  awakened  a  desire  to 
attempt  this  feat,  and  a  trip  to  the  Basin  had 
already  been  arranged  for  Monday,  when  the 
school  programme  was  promulgated. 

The  short  session,  and  Becky's  escape,  had 
made  the  old  arrangement  possible ;  and  the 
young  Amazon  and  her  faithful  squire  were  now 
on  the  banks  of  the  upper  stream,  after  a  quick 
march,  ready  to  launch  their  barks  upon  the 
tide,  careless  of  consequences. 

44 Now,  Teddy,"  said  Becky,  "I'll  go  first: 
you  must  watch  me  closely,  and  do  just  as  I  do. 
You  ain't  scared  —  are  you  ?  " 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  97 

Teddy,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  looking  rather 
anxiously  at  the  rushing  stream,  the  broad  basin, 
and  the  two  foaming  channels  beyond.  The 
stream  had  been  swollen  by  heavy  rains,  and 
the  feat  seemed  more  difficult  than  he  had  imag 
ined  before  he  set  out. 

"N-o,  of  course  not,"  he  said  slowly.  "If 
you  go,  I'm  bound  to  anyway." 

"  Because,  if  you  are  Teddy,  you'd  better  not 
try  it." 

"  I  will  try,  Becky.  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  be 
stumped  by  a  girl." 

"  All  right.  But  don't  you  start  until  I  reach 
the  island ;  and  be  sure  you  keep  your  log 
pointed  right  straight  at  the  tree." 

While  speaking,  Becky  had  rolled  a  short, 
stout  log  into  the  water,  picked  up  a  light  slab, 
and  was  ready  for  the  dash.  Stepping  lightly 
and  quickly  upon  the  log,  she  pushed  it  into 
the  middle  of  the  stream,  headed  it  for  the  tree, 
and,  carefully  guiding  her  craft,  shot  across  the 
Basin,  and  struck  the  island  fairly  and  squarely. 

"  Hurrah  !  I've  done  it  Teddy ! "  she  shouted, 
as  she  leaped  upon  the  land. 

"  AH  right ;  I'm  a  comin'.  Hooray  !  "  answered 
Teddy,  as  he  jumped  upon  his  log,  which 
6 


98  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

darted  down  the  stream,  Teddy  dancing  rather 
lively  to  regain  his  equilibrium,  which  had  sus 
tained  a  shock  by  the  sudden  dart  of  his  log. 
He  was  so  busily  engaged  in  this  manoeuvre 
that  he  failed  to  head  his  bark  as  he  should, 
and,  instead  of  going  straight  across  the  Basin, 
he  swept  to  the  right. 

"  Teddy,  Teddy,  what  are  you  about  ?"  shouted 
Becky.  "  Turn  her  head  !  quick,  quick  !  " 

But  Teddy  was  frightened ;  his  log  was  roll 
ing  over  and  over,  and  he  dropped  his  rudder, 
fell  upon  the  log,  and  clasped  it,  with  his  legs 
in  the  water,  and  round  into  the  swifter  of  the 
two  currents  it  went,  very  near  the  island. 
Seeing  his  danger,  Becky  ran  to  tho  edge  of 
the  island,  and  attempted  to  rescue  him.  She 
leaned  far  over,  lost  her  balance,  and  fell  into 
the  stream.  Bungling  Teddy  clutched  the  bushes 
as  he  passed,  let  the  log  go,  and  pulled  himself 
to  land;  but  Becky  was  swept  past  the  island, 
and  went  floating  down  the  river. 

Teddy,  seeing  the  danger  of  his  sister,  shouted 
lustily  for  help.  Two  men,  at  work  near  the 
bank,  ran  down  to  the  water,  saw  the  struggling 
girl,  but  could  afford  no  assistance ;  but  they 
started  off  at  a  swift  pace  for  the  mill.  Becky 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  99 

was  an  excellent  swimmer;  she  was  not  a  bit 
frightened,  but  struck  out  bravely  in  a  vain 
attempt  to  reach  the  bank.  The  stream  was 
strong  and  swift,  and  bore  her  on  faster  and 
faster  towards  the  dam.  Skillfully  she  kept  her 
head  above  water,  and  struck  out  to  reach 
Teddy's  log,  which  was  just  ahead  of  her.  Fast 
as  she  went,  the  men  on  the  shore  flew  faster 
still.  It  was  a  case  of  life  and  death.  They 
reached  the  mill. 

"  Help,  help  I  there's  a  girl  in  the  water ! " 

Men  came  running  out,  women  ran  to  the 
windows ;  there  was  wild  commotion,  but  no 
attempt  at  rescue. 

"  We  can't  help  her ;  she  must  go  over  the 
dam !  " 

"Throw  her  a  rope  —  it's  her  only   chance!" 

"  Mighty  slim  chance :  she's  too  much  fright 
ened  to  catch  it.  She  can't  be  saved !  " 

"She  can  be  saved!  Quick!  a  long,  stout 
rope!" 

It  was  a  commanding  voice  that  spoke,  a  com 
manding  form  that  stepped  forward  —  the  school 
master,  Harry  Thompson.  Quickly  a  rope  was 
placed  in  his  hand. 

"  Now,  three  good,  strong  fellows,  follow  me  1" 


100  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

He  threw  off  his  coat,  ran  along  the  bank, 
winding  the  rope  around  his  body,  and  tying  it 
as  he  ran.  Becky  was  coming  down  swiftly, 
when  the  roar  of  the  dam  reached  her  ears. 
For  the  first  time  she  felt  her  danger.  Instantly 
all  power  of  exertion  forsook  her.  The  terrible 
dam !  the  jagged  rocks  beneath !  There  was 
death  in  the  thought,  and  a  shrill  scream  rang 
over  the  water. 

"  Help,  help  !  Don't  let  me  drown !  don't  let 
me  go  over  the  dam ! " 

"  Courage,  Becky,  courage.  You  shall  be 
saved." 

She  recognized  the  voice,  even  in  her  agony. 

"  O,  Harry,  Harry!  save  me,  save  me!" 

Still  on  and  on  she  swept,  and  the  roar  of 
the  dam  grew  louder  and  louder.  It  seemed  to 
sound  in  her  ears  like  thunder. 

"  Now,  quick,  boys,  quick !  Give  me  plenty 
of  rope,  and  hold  on  strong ! " 

Harry  Thompson  kicked  off  his  shoes  and 
threw  away  his  hat.  Becky  was  moving  towards 
him,  but  ten  feet  from  the  bank.  He  measured 
the  distance  with  his  eye,  stepped  back  a  few 
paces,  then  ran  quickly,  and  leaped  into  the 
water.  The  best  jumper  in  the  county  had 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  |Q1 

well  calculated  his  distance.  He  .struck  the 
water  close  beside  Becky.  He  'cl#spod  Ivor  qirick,, 
she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  with  a  scream 
of  joy,  and  both  sank  beneath  the  water. 

Then  the  good,  strong  fellows  pulled  with  a 
will,  and  in  a  moment  Becky  and  her  preserver 
were  safe  on  the  bank.  Such  a  shout  as  the 
good  fellows  sent  up,  then  such  a  chorus  of 
shouts  as  the  people  at  the  mill  joined  to  theirs, 
was  never  before  heard  in  Cleverly. 

But  the  chorus  of  rejoicing  was  unheard  by 
Beek}r,  who  lay  upon  the  bank  insensible.  The 
girls  from  the  mill  gathered  about  her,  rubbed 
her  hands,  bathed  her  temples,  and  used  all  the 
customary  means  of  restoration ;  but  yet  she  lay 
there  cold  and  still. 

Harry  became  alarmed.  She  must  be  taken 
home  at  once. 

"Small,  bring  your  wagon — quick!  Send  a 
man  for  the  doctor — quick!" 

Small's  team  was  standing  at  the  mill  door. 
In  a  few  moments  Harry  was  in  the  wagon, 
with  Becky  in  his  arms,  and  one  of  the  "good 
fellows  "  was  racing  down  the  road,  horseback, 
for  the  doctor. 

Mrs.  Sleeper,  weak  and  dispirited,  was  in  the 


102  .  ,  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

kitchen,  standing",  at%  the  table,  washing  the  din 
gier'  disli-ss  ;:  Aubt  ''Hulda,  nursing  an  attack  of 
lumbago,  was  groaning  at  the  fireside.  A  wagon 
drove  swiftly  into  the  yard ,  a  moment,  and 
Harry  Thompson  stood  in  the  doorway,  bearing 
the  insensible  form  of  Becky. 

"  Mrs.  Sleeper,  quick  I  your  camphor  bottle !  " 

Mrs.  Sleeper  dropped  the  dish  in  her  hands ; 
her  eyes  glared  at  the  helpless  girl.  Her  lips 
parted,  but  no  sound  came  from  them.  Then 
her  eyes  closed,  her  hands  clutched  the  air,  and 
she  fell  heavily  to  the  floor.  Aunt  Hulda  ran 
to  her  and  raised  her  head. 

"Delia  Sleeper,  what  on  airth  ails  you?  — 
Here,  you,  Henry  Thompson,  take  that  girl  into 
the  settin'  room.  That's  just  like  you  Thomp 
sons  —  always  a  scarin'  folks  to  death.  —  Delia, 
Delia!  what  ails  you?" 

Aunt  Hulda  rubbed  her,  and  spinkled  water 
over  her,  scolding  all  the  while.  Harry  carried 
Becky  to  the  sitting-room,  and  laid  her  upon  the 
lounge.  As  he  did  so,  a  sigh,  and  the  opening 
of  her  eyes,  gave  assurance  of  returning  anima 
tion  ;  and  when,  in  a  few  minutes,  Dr.  Allen 
entered,  there  was  no  occasion  for  his  services, 
for  Becky  was  sitting  up,  and  inquiring  for 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  1Q3 

Teddy,  who  at  that  moment  was  coming  down 
the  road,  between  the  mill  and  the  school-house, 
feeling  very  wet  and  mean. 

Mrs.  Sleeper  was  carried  to  her  room,  and 
laid  upon  the  bed.  Dr.  Allen,  finding  Becky  so 
comfortable,  made  the  former  a  visit. 

"  Doctor,  what  ails  her  ?     Is  it  stericks  ?  " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  Worse  than  that,  worse  than  that !  " 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  Goodness  gracious !  it's 
purrellysis." 

The  doctor  nodded.  Aunt  Hulda  was  right. 
The  sudden  shock,  upon  the  long  and  weary 
straining  for  the  ever-distant  ship,  had  snapped 
the  cords  of  action,  and  left  her  powerless. 


104  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

MRS.   THOMPSON  DISOBEYS    ORDERS. 

|HEN  that  grim  smith,  Adversity, 
stalks  unannounced  and  unwelcome 
into  the  abode,  erects  his  forge, 
bares  his  strong  arm,  and  sets  himself  to  work 
among  our  affections,  feeding  his  fire  with 
earthly  treasures,  perhaps  too  fondly  prized;  or 
poisoning  the  air  with  unhealthy  vapors,  that 
blight  with  disease  ;  or  shaping  upon  his  anvil 
the  arrows  of  death,  for  instant  use  among  the 
loved  ones,  —  it  is  a  hard  task  to  meet  him  hos 
pitably;  to  be  patient  under  the  agony  of  his 
blows ;  to  realize,  in  his  presence,  that  in  his 
forge  is  the  soul  whitened  and  made  pliable,  that 
under  the  heavy  hammer  he  relentlessly  wields 
it  is  shaped  to  nearness  of  perfection. 

"But  when  time  has    cooled   the  beaten  soul, 
then  it  realizes  how  much  stronger  it  has  grown 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  105 

through  that  dread  experience  ;  how  much  bet 
ter  fitted  it  is  to  meet  the  ever-returning  guest; 
then  it  recognizes  in  this  hard-hitting  smith, 
Adversity,  an  earnest  worker  for  the  universal 
good." 

Thus  preached  Parson  Arnold,  the  salaried 
fountain  from  which  the  good  people  of  Cleverly 
drew  the  living  waters  for  their  spiritual  needs. 
His  auditors  were  Captain  Thompson  and  his 
good  wife,  to  whom  the  parson  had  just  com 
municated  the  misfortunes  of  the  Sleeper  family, 
on  the  day  of  their  occurrence,  he  having  picked 
up  the  intelligence  at  the  blacksmith's  shop, 
while  awaiting  the  setting  of  a  tooth  into  an 
iron  rake,  upon  which  he  was  now  leaning  in 
the  sitting-room  at  Captain  Thompson's.  Per 
haps  the  skill  of  the  agricultural  dentist  had 
suggested  the  illustration  with  which  he  seasoned 
his  short  discourse  upon  the  uses  of  adversity, 
for  he  was  an  earnest  worker  both  in  his  Mas 
ter's  vineyard  and  his  own,  and  used  both  logical 
and  local  arguments  to  drive  home  to  the  hearts 
of  his  people  the  great  truth  which  he 
honestly  believed. 

"Poor  soul!  struck  down  in  an  instant!  what 
will  become  of  the  children  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Thompson. 

"The    town    will  have    to  take    care  of    'cm. 


106  ,       RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

After  this  caper  I've  done  with  'em.  I  wash 
my  hands  of  all  responsibility,"  growled  the 
captain.  "That  young  tomboy  of  theirn  has 
kicked  about  until  she's  broke  her  mother's 
heart;  and  I  hope  she'll  have  to  suffer  for  it." 

"Nay,  nay,  brother;  we  must  be  charitable. 
Remember  her  youth  and  inexperience,"  the 
parson  mildly  remonstrated. 

"  Well,  I  ain't  likely  to  forget  it.  It's  been 
a  dear  experience  to  me ;  and  I  won't  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  them," 

"Don't  say  that,  Paul,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson, 
rising  from  her  chair.  "  They  need  kindness  more 
than  ever.  Their  poor  mother  can  no  longer 
guide  them:  shall  we  desert  them  now?" 

"Guide  them!  Stuff!  She  never  did  guide 
them.  If  she  had,  she'd  have  been  saved  all 
this  trouble." 

"Well,  well,  they're  in  the  Lord's  hands,"  said 
the  parson;  "in  his  hands  who  suffers  not  a 
sparrow  to  fall  to  the  ground  without  his  notice. 
Leave  all  to  him." 

The  parson  put  on  his  hat,  shouldered  his 
rake,  and  departed.  Mrs.  Thompson  attended 
him  to  the  door,  returned,  folded  up  her  work, 
and  left  the  room.  The  captain  followed  hei 


PUNNING  TO   WASTE.  107 

motions  with  his  eyes.  Something  was  wrong. 
There  was  no  heart  in  his  obstinacy.  He  evi 
dently  felt  ill  at  ease.  He  walked  about  the 
room  rapidly,  as  though  endeavoring  to  rouse 
up  something  like  an  angry  spirit ;  but  the  fire 
would  not  kindle.  Instead  of  the  angry  flash 
which  should  have  shone  in  his  eye,  there  was 
a  tear,  and  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  quivered 
with  suppressed  emotion.  Mrs.  Thompson  en 
tered  the  room,  equipped  in  bonnet  and  shawl. 

"What!  going  out  again,  Rebecca ?" 

"Yes,  Paul;  I  am  going  at  once."  Mrs. 
Thompson  looked  almost  defiantly  at  her  hus 
band,  expecting  the  next  question,  and  fully 
prepared  to  answer  it.  But  the  second  question 
was  indefinitely  postponed.  It  trembled  on  the 
captain's  lips,  but  something  in  his  wife's  face 
told  him  if  he  asked  it  his  power  to  rule  was 
gone  forever. 

"Well,  don't  be  gone  long;  it's  lonesome  here 
without  you." 

Mrs.  Thompson  seemed  in  turn  disappointed, 
but  she  said  nothing,  and  departed.  The  cap 
tain  took  a  seat  upon  the  sofa,  whence  he  had 
a  view  of  the  road,  and  deliberately  watched 
his  wife. 


108  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"Hum!  told  you  so,"  soliloquized  he;  "there 
she  goes — straight  down  the  hill!  There  never 
was  such  a  woman !  Deliberately  disobeying 
her  husband.  Bless  her  good  heart!  I  knew 
she'd  go.  Never  could  stand  that — never!  It's 
wrong.  Obedience  is  a  wife's  first  duty.  Won't 
she  make  things  fly  over  there !  Poor  Delia ! 
She  shan't  want  for  physic  as  long  as  I  live  ; 
and  those  young  ones  —  well,  well,  boys  will  be 
boys,  and  girls  will  be — tomboys,  sometimes,  I 
suppose.  There  she  goes,  up  the  hill,  now. 
Disobedience, — rank  disobedience!  I  can't  en 
dure  the  sight  of  it,  and  I  won't !  I'll  just  sad 
dle  Uncle  Ned,  and  go  and  see  the  doctor.  She 
must  have  constant  attendance  ;  and  my  wife,  — 
no,  I  won't  forgive  her  disobedience — never!" 

The  captain  now  went  to  the  window,  and 
watched  until  his  wife  turned  into  the  gate ; 
then,  heaving  a  sigh  (more  closely  resembling 
satisfaction  than  regret),  went  in  pursuit  of 
Phil  and  Uncle  Ned. 

Lightning,  that  swift  agent  of  destruction, 
has  been  known,  in  the  midst  of  its  vagaries,  to 
smite  gigantic  rocks,  and  lay  open  veins  of 
wealth  never  before  discovered.  When  the  bolt 
of  misfortune  struck  the  Sleeper  house,  it  brought 


RUNNING   TO  WASTE.  1Q9 

to  light  a  much-needed  treasure  in  the  person 
of  the  forlorn,  complaining  Aunt  Hulda.  She 
seemed  electrified  by  the  stroke  that  paralyzed 
the  languid  mother,  and  all  the  powers  of  her 
being  sprang  into  active  life.  All  the  theoretical 
knowledge  she  had  acquired  by  her  long,  useless 
"helping"  of  other  people,  burst  into  fruitful 
bloom.  From  the  moment  Mrs.  Sleeper  was 
laid  upon  her  bed,  she  was  the  careful,  watchful 
nurse,  quietly  but  hurriedly  arranging  everything 
for  the  comfort  of  the  invalid,  laying  her  plans 
for  a  long  fit  of  sickness  with  all  the  skill  of 
an  old  campaigner.  Nor  did  her  usefulness  end 
here.  From  the  chamber  to  the  kitchen  she 
flew,  washed  and  put  away  the  dishes,  replen 
ished  the  fire,  swept  and  tidied  up  the  kitchen, 
re-filled  the  kettle,  made  up  a  batch  of  bread 
and  set  it  "  rising,"  and  back  again  to  the  bed 
side  of  her  patient,  without  one  thought  of  her 
own  magazine  of  combustible  troubles  ready  to 
explode  at  a  spark  of  complaint.  All  this  with 
a  feverish  uneasiness,  as  though  she  feared  the 
coming  of  somebody  to  take  the  power  to  do 
out  of  her  hands.  A  gentle  knock  at  the  door 
of  the  sick  chamber,  and  the  entrance  of  Mrs. 
Thompson,  told  her  the  somebody  she  feared 
had  come. 


HO  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Mrs.  Thompson  gaye  her  hand  to  Aunt  Hulda 
with  a  quiet  smile,  and  went  to  the  bed.  What 
.there  was  left  of  life  in  the  body  of  Delia 
Sleeper  seemed  concentrated  in  her  face.  She 
could  not  move  foot  or  hand;  but  the  same 
watchful  glance  was  in  her  eyes,  and  the  shadow 
of  a  smile  played  about  her  mouth,  as  her  old 
friend  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her. 

"So  kind!  so  good!     I  knew  you'd  come." 

Faint  and  tremulous  was  the  voice  of  the 
invalid. 

"  Yes,  dear  heart ;  I've  come  to  nurse  you,  to 
make  you  strong  and  well  again," 

Aunt  Hulda  groaned.  Her  power  was  slip 
ping  from  her. 

"No,  no.  Aunt  Hulda — so  kind  —  she  does 
everything.  She  will  nurse  me — thank  you. 
Let  me -see  you  often — that's  all." 

The  eyes  wandered  to  Aunt  Hulda  with  a 
beseeching  look  that  Mrs.  Thompson  divined  at 
once. 

"Bless  you  child!  I'll  not  interfere  with  her. 
She  shall  be  mistress  in  the  house ;  and  a  good 
one  she'll  make." 

This  was  said  with  a  smile  for  Aunt  Hulda 
that  warmed  the  heart  of  the  spinster  towards 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  HI 

the  visitor.  There  was  a  pleased  look  in  the 
eyes  of  the  invalid,  as  those  of  Mrs.  Thompson 
came  back  to  her  full  of  love  and  sympathy. 

"  Thank  you.  Come  closer.  Becky — my 
Becky  —  don't  let  her  believe  she  did  this.  I've 
brought  it  on  myself — the  doctor  said  so.  Too 
much  watching — you  know — it's  been  wearing 
upon  me.  The  ship  —  that  never  comes — never, 
never  comes.  But  it  will — I  know  it  will." 

"  I  wouldn't  speak  of  that,  Delia,  now.  The 
ship  will  come  in  God's  good  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Thompson.  "  Remember  the  dear  ones  here, 
and  trust  the  absent  one  to  his  care." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  I  didn't,"  said  the  sick  one, 
sighing.  "I  forgot  my  treasures  here,  hoping 
to  clasp  that  other  every  day;  and  now  I'm 
punished.  Wasted  life!  Wasted  life!  Poor 
little  girl!  with  her  mother's  heart  shut  against 
her,  drifting  away  —  running  to  waste ;  and  so 
smart  and  apt  to  learn !  God  pity  me !  God 
pity  me ! " 

"Leave  all  to  me,  Delia.  Let  no  thought  of 
Becky  disturb  you." 

"  I  cannot  help  it.  It  seems  to  me  as  though 
I  had  wilfully  neglected  her." 

"  Not  as  I  have,  Delia.     With  all  your  house- 


112  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

hold  cares,  my  little  namesake  claimed  some 
portion  of  my  attention;  and  we  have  not  met 
for  years.  Delia,  you  know  the  reason.  I 
blame  myself  for  this  long  neglect." 

"  No,  no  ;  you  were  always  a  kind,  good  friend. 
But  I  suppose  he  thought  it  best.  Becky  is  in 
the  sitting-room;  won't  you  see  her  and  com 
fort  her?" 

"Now  and  always.  With  Aunt  Hulda's  per 
mission,  she  shall  be  my  especial  charge  here 
after." 

44  O,  you  are  so  good !  No  wonder  people 
love  you." 

Mrs.  Thompson  kissed  her  friend,  and  passed 
out  of  the  room.  Aunt  Hulda  smoothed  the  bed 
clothes,  and  looked  at  her  patient  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  go,  go,"  said  Mrs.  Sleeper.  "  But  first 
kiss  me,  Aunt  Hulda  —  won't  you  my  best 
friend  ?  " 

Aunt  Hulda  made  a  dash  at  her  lips,  and  a 
loud  smack  resounded  through  the  room. 

"You  dear,  dear,  dear  child!  May  the  Lord 
give  me  strength  to  do  for  you  as  you  de 
serve  ! " 

With  her  apron  to  her  eyes,  Aunt  Kulda  left 
the  room,  leaving  the  invalid  to  her  solitary 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  113 

vigil.  Already  was  adversity  working  in  her 
for  good.  The  mother-love  so  long  repressed  in 
her  heart  had,  by  one  of  those  strange  phases 
of  illness,  at  once  asserted  itself  the  ruling 
power.  Only  a  few  hours  had  the  active  forces 
refused  to  obey  the  will ;  only  a  few  hours  had 
the  brain  caught  this  new  power  from  the  heart ; 
yet  it  had  travelled  over  years  and  years  of 
neglect  and  wasted  opportunity,  with  bitter  re 
grets  that  might  yet  shape  themselves  into 
guiding  forces,  in  the  lonely  vigils  of  the  years 
to  come. 

Becky  Sleeper,  under  the  shadow  of  this  sud 
den  visitation,  had  in  turn  received  a  shock. 
The  terrible  sequel  to  her  frolic  had,  upon  her 
revival,  produced  such  a  nervous  state,  that  for 
two  hours  she  lay  upon  the  sofa,  trembling  and 
weeping,  in  the  presence  of  the  astonished 
Teddy,  who  never  before  had  seen  a  tear  in 
the  eyes  of  his  volatile  sister.  Harry  Thompson 
had,  when  he  found  her  in  no  danger,  consulted 
his  own  safety  by  driving  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Drinkwater  for  a  change  of  raiment.  Aunt 
Hulda's  attention  was  required  at  the  bed-side 
of  her  patient,  and  Miss  Becky  was  left  to  re 
cover  at  her  leisure.  The  period  of  lamentation 
8 


114  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

having  passed  away,  she  lapsed  into  a  state  of 
dejection,  so  long  and  silent  that  Teddy,  weary 
with  waiting  for  her  to  break  the  silence,  quitely 
fell  asleep. 

Becky's  thoughts  ran  over  and  over  the  recent 
events ;  but  in  the  midst  of  them  all  this  was 
uppermost :  "  I've  killed  mother."  Again  she 
swept  across  the  Basin;  again  clutched  at  drift 
ing  Teddy ;  again  fell  splashing  in  the  water ; 
again  glided  down  the  stream,  heard  the  roar 
of  the  dam,  the  voice  of  Harry  ;  but  all  mixed 
with  this  one  thought,  "I've  killed  mother." 
And  she  buried  her  head  in  the  sofa,  shut  her 
eyes  hard,  and  thurst  her  fingers  into  her  ears, 
in  vain  attempts  to  shut  out  the  thought.  What 
would  become  of  her?  Would  she  be  locked 
up  in  jail — hanged?  She  must  be,  for  it  was 
murder ! 

Becky  was  not  well  skilled  in  reasoning.  She 
could  not  have  told  why  this  feeling  took 
possession  of  her ;  but  there  was  a  dim  conscious 
ness  that  she  must  be  an  awful  wicked  girl,  and 
that  it  was  somebody's  duty  to  punish  her  for 
this,  and  a  wild  wish  that  somebody  would  be 
quick  about  it,  and  have  it  all  over  with.  In 
this  state  she  was  conscious  of  the  opening  of 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  H5 

the  door,  and  the  presence  of  some  one  in  the 
room.  There  was  a  light  step  by  her  side ;  a 
soft  hand  was  placed  upon  her  head. 

"  Becky,  my  child,  you  are  making  yourself 
miserable." 

Becky  knew  that  well  enough.  Why  should 
she  be  told  what  she  knew  so  well?  It  was 
nobody's  business,  any  way.  Why  didn't  people 
attend  to  their  own  affairs?  She  failed  to  re 
cognize  the  voice,  and,  being  in  an  ugly  state 
of  misery,  snatched  the  soft  hand  from  its  rest 
ing-place,  and  flung  it  rudely  from  her,  with 
her  eyes  defiantly  closed. 

Mrs.  Thompson  did  not  replace  the  hand,  did 
not  repeat  the  words.  She  stood  looking  at 
the  girl  a  moment,  then  passed  across  the  room, 
and  took  a  seat  by  the  window.  This  move 
ment  set  Becky  to  thinking.  Who  could  it  be  ? 
It  was  a  kind  voice,  a  warm,  soft  hand.  There 
was  no  feeling  of  punishment  in  either.  Why 
didn't  the  visitor  speak  again?  How  rude  she 
had  been  !  Then  there  came  a  long  pause.  She 
was  listening  intently  for  some  signs  of  her 
visitor's  presence.  Hush !  No  ;  that  was  Teddy, 
snoring.  She  recognized  that ;  and  then  —  yes, 
some  one  was  breathing  by  the  window.  Who 


116  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

could  it  be?  Some  one  quietly  waiting  for  her 
to  get  over  her  ugly  fit.  She  felt  a  pair  of 
eyes  were  fastened  upon  her.  Wondered  if  her 
hair  was  fit  to  be  seen,  if  there  were  any  rents 
in  her  dress,  and — and —  O,  dear,  this  was 
terrible !  She  would  know  the  worst. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  up,  and  looking  across  the 
room,  met  the  loving  eyes  of  Mrs.  Thompson  ; 
saw  a  smile  wreathing  about  the  lips ;  saw  the 
arms  of  the  good  woman  stretched  out  to  her 
so  invitingly,  that,  without  further  invitation, 
she  ran  into  them,  and  nestled  her  head  among 
the  plaits  of  Mrs.  Thompson's  merino,  as  if  she 
had  an  undoubted  right  there.  Then  of  course, 
she  fell  to  crying  again. 

"  O,  Aunt  Rebecca !  you're  so  good !  and  I'm 
so  wicked ! " 

"  No,  no,  pet.  I'm  a  wicked  woman  for 
neglecting  you  so  long.  But  it's  all  right  now. 
I  have  you  in  my  arms,  just  as  I  had  you  when 
you  were  a  baby ;  and  I  don't  mean  to  let  you 
go.  Now  tell  me  what's  the  matter." 

4 'Why,  don't  you  know?  I've  killed  my 
mother ! " 

"No,  no,  pet.  Dismiss  that  fear  from  your 
mind.  She  is  very  ill;  perhaps  may  never  re- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  H7 

cover;  but  the  doctor  says  her  disease  has  been 
a  long  time  coming  on." 

"  And  that  I  tumbled  into  the  water,  got 
most  drowned,  and  frightened  the  life  out  of 
her,"  burst  out  Becky.  "O  dear,  dear!  what' 
will  become  of  me  ? "  And  another  deluge  of 
tears  swept  over  the  placid  bosom  of  Mrs. 
Thompson. 

"  Hush,  hush,  dear  child !  You  were  not  to 
blame.  Any  sudden  shock  might  have  caused 
the  disaster." 

"Aunt  Rebecca,  do  you  mean  to  say  I  am 
not  a  bad,  wicked  girl?" 

Becky  straightened  up  with  such  an  air  of 
injured  guilt  that  Mrs.  Thompson  looked  at  her 
in  surprise. 

"Becky,  how  old  are  you?" 

"Sixteen,  Aunt  Rebecca." 

"  Quite  a  young  lady,  I  declare.  Now  that 
mother  is  laid  upon  a  sick  bed,  the  care  of  the 
house  devolves  upon  you.  Girls  of  sixteen  are 
usually  fitted  for  that  position.  Do  you  feel 
prepared  to  attend  to  those  duties?" 

Becky  hung  her  head. 

"  No,  Becky,  you  are  not  a  wicked  girl.  But 
it  is  time  for  some  good  friend  to  show  you 


118  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

how  you  have  wasted  the  powers  God  has  given 
you.  Had  you  given  the  same  attention  to , 
learning  to  keep  house  that  you  have  to  playing 
ball  and  tag,  to  robbing  orchards  and  shooting 
the  Basin,  you  would  have  been  ready  to  take 
your  place  at  your  mother's  bed-side,  or  to  take 
charge  of  cooking.  You  would  have  gained  the 
good  opinion  of  everybody,  instead  of  being 
shunned  as  a  tomboy;  and  you  would  not  then 
have  reproached  yourself,  as  you  do  now,  for 
being  the  cause  of  your  mother's  illness. 

"  I  know  it,  I  know ;  'tis  all  my  fault,,  'tis 
all  my  fault !  "  sobbed  Becky. 

"Not  altogether  your  fault,  pet.  You  have 
had  no  one  to  lead  you  aright.  But  'tis  time  you 
learned  a  young  woman's  duties.  You  are  quick, 
intelligent,  apt  to  learn.  Will  you  let  me  give 
you  a  few  lessons,  Becky  ?  " 

"  O,  Aunt  Rebecca,  if  you  don't  hate  me,  if 
you  will  try  and  make  something  of  me,  I'll 
never  go  out  doors  again  as  long  as  I  live!" 

Mrs.  Thompson  smiled. 

44  Plants  will  not  thrive  without  air,  Becky : 
you  shall  have  plenty  of  it.  Now,  dry  your 
eyes,  and  come  with  me  to  see  mother." 

"Not  now,    Aunt   Rebecca;    I'm    not    fit.     I 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  H9 

hope  you'll  make  something  of  me ;  but  it's  an 
awful  bad  job.  One  thing  I  mean  to  do.  I'll  try 
just  as  hard  as  ever  I  can  to  do  just  what  you 
tell  me." 

"  That's  right,  Miss  Becky  Sleeper ;  and  if 
you  do  what  that  angel  woman  tells  you,  you 
are  on  the  straight  road  to  heaven,  I  can  tell 

you." 

Mr.  Harry  Thompson  came  running  into  the 
room. 

"  Don't  scold,  mother.  I've  been  listening 
outside  the  door  for  the  last  five  minutes.  Let 
me  congratulate  you  on  your  promising  pupil." 

"I  think  I  can  make  something  of  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Thompson  looking  with  pride  at  her 
handsome  son. 

"Not  without  my  help,  mother.  I  know  all 
the  good  points  of  that  sportive  genius,  for, 
alas !  1  helped  to  train  them  in  the  wrong  way. 
So,  to  make  amends,  employ  me  in  the  good 
work  of  training  tKis  wandering  vine  in  the 
proper  direction.  What  do  you  say,  Miss 
Becky?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Harry,"  said 
Becky,  soberly.  "Is  it  some  new  game  you 
want  to  teach  me?  If  it  is,  I  can't  learn  it, 
for  I've  promised  not  to  play  any  more." 


120  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Harry  laughed. 

"Yes,  Becky,  'tis  a  new  game.  We'll  call 
it 'Excelsior,'  a  game  which  requires  work,  and 
not  play." 

"Don't  puzzle  the  child,  Harry,"  said  Mrs. 
Thompson. 

"Child!"  echoed  Harry.  "Sweet  sixteen; 
and  yet  she's  but  a  child." 

"You  saved  my  life,  Harry,"  said  Becky, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  I  don't  know  as  I 
ought  to  thank  you  for  doing  it,  for  Aunt  Re 
becca  says  it's  been  a  wasted  life.  But  I  do 
thank  you  all  the  same." 

"Perhaps  I've  brought  you  into  a  new  life, 
Becky.  I  hope  I  have — the  life  of  usefulness 
we  all  should  live." 

"  Look  out,  Becky !  she's  drifting  !  "  shouted 
Teddy,  in  his  sleep.  "She's  drifting!  she 
drifting!" 

He  moved  uneasily  in  his  sleep,  started,  rolled 
off  his  chair,  and  drifted  on  to  the  floor,  with  a 
crash  that  shook  the  house. 

"Teddy  Sleeper,  what  ails  you?  Wake  up!" 
cried  Becky,  running  to  him,  and  shaking  him. 
"Don't  you  see  we've  got  company ? '* 

Teddy  rolled  over,  sat  up,  and  stared  wildly 
about  him. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  121 

"I  don't  care,  Becky  Sleeper.  I  ain't  a  go- 
in'  to  be  stumped  by  a  girl,  any  way." 

Harry  Thompson  laughed  so  loud  that  Teddy 
sprang  to  his  feet  in  confusion. 

"Stick  to  that,  Teddy,  and  we'll  make  a  man 
of  you." 


122  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BECKY'S  NEW  BIRTH. 

°NTO  the  life  thus  accidentally  opened  to 
her,  Becky  dashed  with  the  same  vigor 
and  determination  which  had  character 
ized  her  dealings  with  the  sports  of  tomboy- 
hood. 

On  the  departure  of  the  Thompsons,  she 
marched  into  the  kitchen,  and  surprised  Aunt 
Hulda  by  pulling  the  table  into  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  spreading  the  cloth,  and  arranging  the 
dishes  for  supper. 

"  Goodness  gracious,  child !  What's  come  to 
you  ?  "  cried  the  spinster,  in  astonishment. 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  Aunt  Hulda.  I've  been  a 
bad  girl,  but  I  mean  to  do  better.  I'm  not  going 
to  let  you  do  all  the  work  in  this  house." 

Aunt  Hulda  looked  at  the  girl  uneasily.  Was 
this  madcap  endeavoring  to  take  the  reins  out 
of  her  hands? 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  123 

"Indeed!  Praps  you'd  like  to  be  mistress, 
and  order  me  round." 

"No,  indeed,  Aunt  Hulda;  you  shall  be  mis 
tress,  and  I'll  be  maid.  It's  little  I  know, 
shame  on  me !  but  I  want  to  learn ;  and  you 
know  how  to  teach  so  well  that  I  shan't  bother 
you  long  with  my  clumsiness,  I  guess." 

"  Well,  that's  clever.  You're  real  handy,  too  ; 
only  you've  put  the  knives  and  forks  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  plates." 

"  So  I  have,"  said  Becky,  quickly  "  changing 
sides."  "  Where  are  you  going  now,  Aunt 
Hulda?" 

"  After  wood ;  the  fire's  getting  low.  It's  got 
to  be  chopped,  too.  But  I  can  manage  that." 

"  No,  you  must  not.  —  Here,  Teddy,  bring  in 
a  good  big  armful  of  wood ;  and  don't  you  never 
let  Aunt  Hulda  bring  another  stick." 

Teddy  had  been  standing  by  the  window, 
gazing,  in  open-mouthed  astonishment,  at  Becky's 
proceedings.  He  roused  himself  at  her  sharp 
call,  and  obeyed. 

"  Guess  Becky's  a  little  out  of  head,"  he 
soliloquized,  in  the  woodshed.  "  Got  too  much 
water  on  the  brain  in  the  dam." 

Supper    finished,    Becky    washed    the    dishes, 


124  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

cleared  away,  and  swept  the  kitchen,  under  the 
direction  of  Aunt  Hulda,  and  then  insisted  on 
making  bread,  after  careful  directions  from  the 
mistress.  All  this  was  faithfully  reported  to 
Mrs.  Sleeper  by  Aunt  Hulda. 

"  I  tell  you,  Delia,  there's  the  making  of  a 
smart  woman  in  that  girl;  and  it's  coming  out 
fast." 

When  bed  time  came,  Becky  went  in  to  her 
mother  with  a  sad  face.  The  idea  that  she  had 
caused  her  mother's  illness  was  so  strong  upon 
her,  that  it  could  not  be  easily  dissipated.  Per 
haps  it  was  better  so,  if  it  only  strengthened  her 
in  her  determination  to  achieve  success  in  the 
new  life. 

"  How  do  you  feel  to-night,  mother  ? "  said 
Becky  choking  down  a  sob,  and  laying  her 
hand  on  her  mother's  head,  with  a  caress. 

"  Happy,  Becky,  very  happy,"  said  the  mother, 
with  a  smile.  "  The  light  step  of  a  little  woman 
about  the  house  has  made  me  wonderfully  con 
tented." 

The  "little  woman"  blushed,  then  said,  with 
a  smile  she  found  it  hard  to  muster, — 

"  Sick  people  should  not  listen.  But  I'm  glad 
it  made  you  happy,  mother.  Shall  I  stay  with 
you  to-night?" 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  125 

"  No ;  Aunt  Hulda  will  take  care  of  me. 
Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  mother  "  with  a  kiss.  "  Don't 
worry  about  me.  I  mean  to  try,  O,  so  hard  — 

She  could  say  no  more.  The  tears  would 
come,  spite  of  her  efforts  to  repress  them ;  and 
she  ran  from  the  room. 

She  slept  little  that  night ;  the  new  tenant  — 
thought  —  rambled  strangely  about  in  its  unfa 
miliar  quarters,  as  if  uncertain  at  what  task  to 
set  itself,  in  what  corner  of  this  little  head  to 
find  a  resting-place. 

Mr.  Drinkwater  was  no  better  the  next  morn 
ing,  and  Harry  Thompson  opened  the  school,  as 
usual.  He  was  gratified,  on  casting  his  eyes 
about  the  room,  to  see  Becky  and  Teddy  in 
the  places  assigned  them  the  day  before  ;  and 
very  much  surprised,  when  the  religious  exer 
cises  were  concluded,  to  see  Becky  rise  from  her 
place,  and  march  to  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"  Master  Thompson,  if  you  please,  I  was  very 
rude  to  you  yesterday.  I  want  to  beg  your  par 
don  before  all  the  scholars." 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Becky ;  you  were  somewhat 
rude;  but  this  free  confession  amply  atones  for 
it.  You  are  forgiven." 


126  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"I  want  all  the  scholars  to  know,  if  you  please, 
that  after  school,  when  I  was  told  to  take  my 
place  upon  the  platform,  I  jumped  out  of  the 
window. " 

Harry  bit  his  lip.  This  was  just  what  he  didn't 
want  the  scholars  to  know ;  and  they  never  would 
have  known  how  he  had  been  outwitted,  but 
for  Becky's  confession.  She  was  altogether  too 
penitent. 

"That  will  do,  Miss  Becky.  You  have  said 
quite  enough.  I  shall  expect  better  conduct  from 
you  in  the  future." 

"  I  mean  to  try,  sir.  " 

Becky  returned  to  her  seat.  She  did  try  hard 
that  day ;  and  not  only  that  day,  but  every  day, 
found  her  trying,  and  succeeding,  too.  She  dil 
igently  applied  herself  to  the  studies  assigned 
her,  watched  her  conduct  carefully,  and  in  a  very 
short  time  Harry  Thompson  had  reason  to  be 
proud  of  his  pupil.  She  gave  Teddy  a  helping 
hand,  also.  She  was  pained  to  hear  the  laugh 
when  Teddy  blundered;  so  every  night  at  home 
Teddy  was  carefully  tutored  by  his  sister  for 
the  next  day's  task ;  and  in  a  short  time  he,  too, 
accomplished  wonders. 

As  soon  as  the  brain  was  trained    to    system- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  127 

atized  labor,  Becky's  sharp  eyes  traced  the  dif 
ference  in  her  attire  and  that  of  the  girls  about 
her;  and  very  soon  improvement  was  noticed  in 
this.  Mrs.  Thompson,  whose  visits  to  the  brown 
house  were  now  of  daily  occurrence,  taught  her 
to  sew.  Material  was  readily  found  among  the 
stock  of  presents  the  sailor  husband  had  been 
accustomed  to  bring  his  wife,  and  which  had 
never  been  made  up;  and  thus  Becky  was  as 
neat  and  well  dressed  a  girl  as  there  was  in  the 
school.  She  made  quick  progress  with  her  studies. 
In  one  branch  she  excelled  all  —  that  of  drawing. 
Harry  had  introduced  this  as  a  pleasant  study, 
with  no  idea  that  Becky  had  such  a  genius  for 
it  as  she  rapidly  displayed. 

Mr.  Drinkwater  continued  ill  all  the  winter, 
and  Harry  kept  the  school,  by  his  orders;  for, 
contrary  to  his  expectations,  Captain  Thompson 
did  not  come  into  the  school.  The  shrewd  pro 
prietor  evidently  discovered  the  trick  to  "bring 
about  a  reconciliation,  and,  with  his  usual  ob 
stinacy,  defeated  the  well  laid  plan.  And  so, 
autumn  gave  place  to  winter,  and  the  snow  lay 
heavily  on  the  ground.  Winter,  in  turn,  gave 
place  to  spring,  with  all  its  opening  beauties; 
and  school  was  over.  • 


128  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Harry  Thompson  stood  upon  the  steps  of  the 
school-house,  the  door  locked  behind  him  for 
the  last  time,  the  key  in  his  hand.  His  scholars 
had  gone;  up  and  down  the  road  he  could  hear 
their  merry  voices,  as  they  wended  their  ways 
homeward.  But  one  was  left  to  keep  him  com 
pany —  Becky  Sleeper.  She  stood  beside  him, 
anxiously  watching  his  troubled  face ;  for  the 
master  was  looking  across  the  road  at  the  home 
of  his  childhood,  where  he  jsould  not  now  enter. 
He  was  bitterly  disappointed  in  his  labors  ;  they 
had  not  brought  about  the  reconciliation  for 
which  he  had  plotted,  and  which,  for  his  mother's 
sake,  he  had  so  longed  for.  He  turned,  with  a 
sigh,  to  Becky. 

"  Well,  little  one,  school  is  over.  " 

"Yes,  Harry.  It's  been  a  pleasant  time  for 
me.  How  can  I  thank  you  for  having  been  so 
kind  to  me,  for  having  taught  me  so  much,  and 
being  such  a  dear,  kind  friend?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  able  to  do  you  some  good, 
Becky.  My  labor  has  not  been  fruitless,  after 
all. " 

Fruitless!  No.  One  look  at  the  thoughtful 
face  beside  him,  one  glance  at  the  trim  figure, 
might  convince  him  of  that.  Six  months  ago  a 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  129 

hoiden,  to-day  a  woman;  bright,  young,  beauti 
ful,  still;  but  strong,  energetic,  persevering,  rap 
idly  unfolding  the  intellectual  graces  of  true 
womanhood. 

He  was  fond  of  his  pupil ;  and  to  her  he  was 
a  hero  —  always  had  been ;  but  for  the  last  six 
months  they  had  been  constantly  in  each  other's 
company.  Out  of  school,  many  of  the  old  famil 
iar  ways  had  been  revived.  They  had  ridden, 
sailed,  rowed,  even  indulged  in  an  Occasional 
game  of  cricket.  At  her  home  he  was  a  con 
stant  visitor,  that  being  the  established  rendez 
vous  for  meeting  his  mother;  and  mother  and 
son  had  diligently  wrought — quietly,  but  earnestly 
—  a  great  change  in  her  life.  She  knew  it,  and 
blessed  them  for  it.  These  two  were  very  dear 
to  each  other,  and,  without  knowing  it,  were 
passing  beyond  the  boundaries  of  friendship  into 
the  perplexing  maze  of  love. 

" Harry,"  said  Becky,  suddenly,  "where  does 
all  the  money  come  from?" 

"  Money,  Becky  !     What  money  ?  " 

"  The  money  that  gets  us  all  we  have  at  home. 
Mother's  went  long  ago ;  and  yet  we  are  always 
well  supplied  with  food  and  clothing.      Does    it 
come  from  your  father  ?  " 
9 


130  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  I  think  in  does,  Becky.  My  angel  mothei 
possesses  a  key  which  unlocks  all  his  treasures  ; 
and  I  suspect  that  some  of  them  fly  across  the 
bridge  to  your  home.  "  . 

"I  thought  so.  It  isn't  right.  Is  there  not 
some  way  in.  which  I  could  earn  money?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  of  any.  Stay.  You 
might  blow  the  bellows  for  Fox,  the  blacksmith, 
or  get  employment  in  the  shipyard." 

"  O,  stop.  That's  not  what  I  want.  Couldn't 
I  work  in  one-  of  the  mills?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  could ;  but  I  wouldn't, 
at  least  until  after  we've  had  a  consultation  with 
my  angel  mother." 

"  Then  let's  have  one,  quick.  I'm  determined 
to  earn  money  some  way ;  and  if  you  don't  find 
me  something  better  I  will  blow  the  bellows  for 
Mr.  Fox." 

"  Well,  I'll  come  over  to-night,  and  we'll  have 
a  grand  council  of  war.     Good  by,  Becky. 
"Good  by,  Harry." 

He   turned    up   the   road,    and   she   stood   and 
watched  him  as  he  stepped  briskly  along,  swing 
ing  the  key  in  his  hand,  and  whistling  merrily. 
"  He's  just  splendid  !     O,  if  I  was  only  a  man, 
to  follow  him  into  the  world !     For  this  life  will 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  131 

not  content  him  long.  He's  restless  now,  eager 
to  be  at  work  among  men.  And  he'll  go,  too. 
And,  O,  dear!  how  lonesome  it  will  be  without 
him ! " 

Even  then  Becky  felt  a  lonesome  shadow  glid 
ing  into  her  heart  with  its  oppressive  weight, 
felt  the  tears  gathering  in  her  eyes.  Then,  when 
he  was  still  in  sight !  How  would  it  be  when 
he  should  be  far,  far  away? 

Yet  she  stood  and  watched  as  he  descended 
the  hill,  till  he  was  out  of  sight ;  longer  still, 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  spot  from  which  he  had 
vanished,  her  thoughts  shaping  themselves  into 
queer  notions  of  the  future,  in  girlhood's  flatter 
ing  mirror  of  romance,  building  bright  pictures 
of  renown  for  him,  —  her  hero,  —  in  which  she 
bore  no  part. 

From  this  sudden  romantic  attack  she  was 
aroused  by  the  appearance  of  another  figure  in 
the  place  on  which  her  eyes  were  fixed.  Slowly 
toiling  up  the  hill  came  a  girl,  pale-featured, 
poorly-clad,  deformed,  and  crippled.  With  the 
aid  of  a  crutch  she  stumped  along  the  path  until 
she  reached  the  school-house  ;  then,  with  a  pleas 
ant  nod  to  Becky,  and  a  sigh  of  relief,  she 
seated  herself  upon  the  steps. 


132  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

Becky  returned  the  nod,  and  seated  herself  by 
the  side  of  the  cripple. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it." 

44  Do'  I  ?  "  said  the  cripple,  smiling.  "  Well,  I 
suppose  to  you,  who  have  two  feet  to  run  about 
on,  it  does  seem  hard.  But  it's  the  best  I  can 
do,  the  best  I  ever  could  do;  and  so  I  don't 
mind  it  a  bit." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  like  being 
a  cripple,"  said  Becky,  in  astonishment.  "  I 
never  could  be  contented  in  that  way  —  never!" 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  like  it;  but  I  cannot 
help  it.  It  must  always  be  so.  It's  hip  trouble. 
I  only  try  to  make  the  best  of  it.  The  hardest 
to  bear  are  the  hard,  grinding  pains  that  come 
sometimes.  O,  they  are  terrible  !  But  they  come 
and  go ;  and  after  there're  gone  I'm  real  com 
fortable  till  —  the  next." 

"  Well,  you're  a  brave  girl,  any  way,"  said 
Becky.  "  What's  your  name,  please  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  Jenny  York  ?  I 
thought  everybody  knew  me.  What's  yours  ?  " 

44  Becky  Sleeper." 

44  What!  the  tomboy?" 

A  dark  shadow  passed  across  the  face  of  Becky. 

fc4 1  was  the  tomboy,  Jenny ;  but  I've  outgrown 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  133 

that  name.  I  think  I'm  something  a  little  nearer 
what  a  girl  of  my  age  should  be  now." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  speaking  so,  Becky. 
I've  never  met  you  before  ;  but  I've  always  heard 
of  you  and  your  —  your — " 

"Capers,  Jenny.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  don't 
mind  it  a  bit.  Thank  goodness,  I've  outgrown 
all  that  folly.  But  tell  me,  are  you  Silly  York's 
sister?" 

"Yes.  She's  number  one,  and  I'm  number 
two  ;  then  there's  Johney,  three,  and  four  and 
five.  They're  little  tots,  and  don't  count  for 
much  yet.  Silly  works  for  Mrs.  Thompson,  and 
I  work  at  the  mill." 

"  You  work!     At  what  mill?" 

"  The  paper  mill,  sorting  rags.  It's  profitable 
business,  too.  Some  weeks  I  make  five  or  six 
dollars." 

What  a  strange  meeting !  A  little  cripple 
earning  six  dollars  a  week,  and  a  great,  strong, 
healthy  girl,  who  never  earned  a  cent.  Becky 
could  scarcely  believe  her  ears. 

"Why,  Jenny  York,  your're  worth  a  dozen 
girls  like  me.  I  never  earned  a  cent  in  my  life. 
I  wish  I  could,  though." 

"  It's    easy  enough.      Mr.   Small  wants  some 


184  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

help ;  he  told  me  so  to-day.  The  work  is  not 
very  clean ;  there's  plenty  of  dust  to  get  down 
your  throat,  and  up  your  nose,  and  into  your 
ears.  But  it  never  gets  into  my  eyes  thick 
enough  to  prevent  my  seeing  the  wages  every 
Saturday  night." 

Jenny  York  laughed  merrily,  making  it  evi 
dent  that  the  dust  had  no  effect  on  her  good 
humor. 

"  There,  I  guess  I've  had  a  good  rest.  I  must 
be  going." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  said  Becky,  springing 
up,  and  assisting  Jenny  to  regain  her  feet. 

"  O,  thank  you !  That  will  be  nice.  I  can 
put  my  arm  about  your  waist,  if  you'll  let  me, 
and  you  can  shoulder  the  crutch,  if  you  like, 
and  'twill  be  a  pleasant  change  for  me." 

Warm-hearted  Becky  quickly  adjusted  herself 
to  the  requirements  of  her  companion,  and  they 
started  off  down  the  road. 

"  Do  you  walk  up  and  down  every  day, 
Jenny  ?  " 

"  O,  no.  Almost  always  somebody  comes 
along  and  gives  me  a  ride.  Everybody  is  very 
kind  to  me,  and  I  get  along  famously." 

Ah,   Jenny,   if    everybody  had    your  cheerful 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  135 

spirit,  how  much  better  and  brighter  the  world 
would  become !  how  pleasantly  we  should  all  get 
along !  The  hard,  grinding  times  come  to  all, 
in  different  shapes,  to  be  rightly  borne  in 
patience  ;  but  between  the  past  and  the  coming 
are  long  reaches  of  level  life  which  the  sunshine 
of  a  contented  spirit  can  make  glad  and  happy. 

That  long  walk  opened  a  fresh  path  in  the 
new  life  to  Becky.  For  two  years  Jenny  York 
had  worked  at  the  mill.  She  gave  her  compan 
ion  a  full  description  of  her  duties,  and  eagerly 
pressed  her  to  come  and  try  her  luck.  They 
parted  at  the  door  of  Mr.  York's  house,  sworn 
friends.  Becky,  refusing  an  invitation  to  enter, 
remembering  her  charity  visit,  gave  Jenny  her 
promise  that  the  next  day  should  find  her  at  the 
mill. 

So  homeward  tripped  Becky,  thanking  her 
lucky  stars  for  this  providential  meeting,  think 
ing  how  oddly  it  had  come  about  that  just  at 
the  right  moment  a  weak,  crippled  girl  had  been 
able  to  point  out  to  her  the  road  to  indepen 
dence. 

The  "  council  of  war "  that  night  deliberated 
long  and  earnestly  on  the  question  which  Becky 
laid  before  that  body.  Harry  opposed,  Mrs. 
Thompson  hesitated,  Becky  was  resolute. 


136  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  I  hate  to  oppose  you,  Harry,  who  have  been 
so  good  to  me.  But  I  can  earn  money  there  ; 
and  it's  high  time  I  did  something  for  the  sup 
port  of  the  family." 

She  had  taken  the  precaution  to  win  Aunt 
Hulda  and  her  mother  to  her  side  before  sub 
mitting  her  plan  to  the  others.  Aunt  Hulda, 
whose  admiration  for  Becky  sometimes  was 
unbounded,  had  been  first  consulted.  This  mark 
of  confidence  had  won  all  that  remained  of  Aunt 
Hulda's  heart,  and  she  readily  acquiesced,  as  she 
would  have  done  had  Becky  proposed  to  shingle 
the  church.  The  mother  had  read  in  the  spark 
ling  eyes  of  her  daughter,  now  so  very  dear  to 
her,  the  earnest  desire  to  work  and  earn,  and 
could  not,  if  she  would,  disappoint  her.  Thus 
thrice-armed  in  a  just  cause,  Becky  met  her 
councillors,  and  bore  off  the  victory  at  last. 

"With  these  stipulations:  she  should  give  just 
the  time  daily  which  had  been  occupied  by  her 
school  duties  to  rag -picking  —  no  more.  She 
should  perform  her  household  labors  as  usual, 
and  be  ready  at  other  times  for  out-door  exer 
cise  at  the  will  and  pleasure  of  Harry  Thomp 
son.  His  consent  could  be  gained  on  no  other 
terms.  Mrs.  Thompson  was  doubtful  of  the  influ- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  137 

ences  which  might  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
Becky  at  the  mill,  yet  could  not  but  admire  the 
spirit  she  displayed.  She  hesitated  on  Becky's 
account  a  while,  then  smilingly  gave  her  vote 
in  favor  of  Becky,  and  the  field  was  won. 

The  next  morning  found  her  at  the  mill 
equipped  for  dusty  labor.  Mr.  Small  received 
her  kindly,  made  a  satisfactory  bargain  with  her, 
and  she  at  once  entered  upon  her  duties. 

The  paper  mill  was  composed  of  three  build 
ings  ;  the  main  section,  comprising  the  business 
office,  the  machine-room,  the  pulp-vats,  and  the 
bleaching-tubs,  was  built  of  bricks.  At  right 
angles  with  this  structure,  and  attached  to  it, 
was  a  flat-roofed  wooden  building.  In  the  lower 
story  of  this  were  stored  rags  in  bags ;  from  this 
room  they  were  hoisted  to  the  second  story,  where 
they  were  sorted,  then  taken  to  the  main  build 
ing  to  be  bleached.  At  the  end  of  this  building 
was  a  low,  slant-roofed  stable.  In  the  sorting- 
room  from  ten  to  a  dozen  females  were  usually 
employed ;  and  to  this  section  of  the  paper  mill 
Becky  was  assigned. 

To  no  pleasant  work  did  Becky  set  her  hands ; 
in  no  very  pleasant  companionship  did  she  find 
herself.  With  the  exception  of  Jenny  York,  the 


138  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  girls  "  were  middle  aged  and  old  women,  loud- 
tongued,  and  very  apt  to  be  quarrelsome.  At 
first  Becky  tried  to  make  friends  with  all  of 
them ;  but,  finding  her  overtures  met  with  rude 
ness,  she  desisted  from  further  attempts,  and 
drew  the  closer  to  the  little  cripple. 

As  time  passed  on,  and  she  grew  familiar  with 
her  labor,  stronger  grew  her  friendship  for  Jenny. 
These  two  made  a  corner  of  their  own,  a  little 
removed  from  the  Babel  of  tongues.  Jenny, 
rejoicing  in  the  companionship  of  one  so  near 
her  age,  was  always  bright  and  happy.  Becky, 
catching  the  inspiration  of  her  cheerful  spirit, 
overflowed  with  mirth  and  humor,  and  oft- 
repeated  stories  of  tomboy  adventures  made  them 
both  merry  over  their  work. 

But  Becky  never  lost  sight  of  her  indepen 
dence.  She  worked  gaily,  but  she  worked  with 
a  will ;  and  the  sight  of  her  wages  when  Satur 
day  came  was  a  reward  of  merit  dearly  prized. 
Steadily  she  worked  through  the  hot  months  of 
summer,  until  she  could  count  ninety  dollars  in 
her  strong-box;  and  then  a  sad  disaster  befell 
the  mill. 

The  machinery  of  a  paper  mill  seldom  stops, 
night  or  day,  save  for  repairs.  It  was  in  the 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  139 

month  of  September  that  it  was  necessary  to 
stop  for  the  repair  of  a  broken  wheel.  The 
sorting-room,  however,  was  kept  in  operation. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  "  girls  "  repaired  to  their 
homes  for  dinner —  all  but  Jenny  York.  Occa 
sionally  Becky  staid  to  keep  her  company,  but 
not  often,  the  .stipulations  with  the  council  requir 
ing  her  to  be  punctual  to  her  meals  at  home. 
Certainly  Jenny  fared  all  the  better  for  this,  for 
Becky's  return  always  added  something  nice  to 
her  plain  fare. 

But  one  day  Jenny  had  a  fierce  attack  of  her 
grinding  pains,  and  all  the  forenoon  she  lay  upon 
a  couch  of  bags,  and  when  dinner  time  came, 
spite  of  her  wishes,  Becky  would  not  leave  her. 
They  were  alone ;  Jenny,  just  recovering,  was 
faint  and  ghostly  white ;  Becky,  bending  over 
her,  was  bathing  her  temples,  when,  suddenly, 
outside,  the  cry  of  "  Fire  !  "  was  raised.  Becky 
sprang  to  her  feet,  to  find  the  room,  thickening 
with  smoke,  coming  up  through  the  chinks  in 
the  floor.  A  too  common  accident  in  paper 
mills  had  occurred.  A  bag  of  cotton  waste  had 
burst  into  flames,  and  the  store-room  beneath 
was  a  furnace  of  fire.  Her  first  thought  was  — 
no  thought  at  all.  The  instinct  of  self-preserva- 


140  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

tion  took  her  into  the  machine-room  very  quick, 
and  then  she  thought  of  Jenny.  She  ran  back 
to  the  terrified  girl,  crying, — 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Jenny.  The  mill's  on 
fire  ;  but  I'll  save  you." 

She  stooped  and  lifted  Jenny  in  her  arms. 
All  the  "  waste "  of  her  early  life  served  her 
well  now.  Exercise  had  made  that  small  frame 
tough  and  muscular,  and  she  easily  bore  Jenny 
towards  the  door.  But  suddenly  the  iron  doors 
between  the  two  buildings  were  closed  with  a 
crash.  Some  crazy  operative,  thinking  only  of 
the  danger  to  the  main  building,  had  taken  this 
precaution,  without  looking  into  the  room.  Becky 
dropped  her  burden,  and  flew  to  the  doors.  She 
screamed  for  help ;  she  beat  the  iron  with  her 
fists  in  vain.  Then  she  ran  to  the  windows  on 
the  sides ;  there  were  none  at  the  end.  But  the 
thick,  black  smoke,  rolling  up  outside,  obscured 
the  light.  No  escape  there;  they  were  walled 
in  on  every  side.  The  smoke  in  the  room  was 
so  thick  it  was  with  difficulty  they  could  breathe. 

No  escape?  Yes,  one.  Becky  cast  her  eyes 
aloft.  In  the  centre  of  the  roof  was  a  scuttle, 
ten  feet  above  her.  Lying  along  the  side  of  the 
room  was  a  ladder.  Becky  sprang  for  it.  It 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  141 

was  very  heavy;  but  desperation  nerved  her 
arms,  and  it  was  raised. 

All  this  time  Jenny  lay  upon  the  floor,  watch 
ing  with  wishful  eyes  the  movements  of  Becky. 
O,  if  she  only  had  a  little  strength  now  !  Becky 
came  to  her  side,  and  raised  her  once  more  in 
her  arms. 

"  Now  clasp  me  close,  and  we'll  soon  reach 
the  roof,  and  be  out  of  this  stifling  smoke,  any 
way." 

With  her  heavy  burden  she  toiled  up  the  lad 
der,  rested  a  moment  at  the  top,  then  threw  up 
the  scuttle,  and  reached  the  roof.  There  she 
laid  Jenny  down  and  ran  to  the  edge.  Right 
and  left  the  smoke  was  rising  in  dense  volumes  ; 
but  at  the  farther  end  all  was  clear,  and  beneath 
it  was  the  steep  roof  of  the  stable.  There  was 
her  chance  for  escape.  She  could  drop  easily ; 
it  was  but  ten  feet.  But  Jenny !  The  poor  girl 
would  scarce  escape  without  injury.  Only  a 
moment  she  pondered,  then  ran  back  to  the  scut 
tle,  and  descended  the  ladder,  at  the  risk  of  her 
life.  Near  the  iron  doors  the  flames  were  shoot 
ing  up  through  the  floor,  and  dancing  on  the 
wall.  The  smoke  was  stifling.  She  caught  up 
several  empty  bags,  and  quickly  regained  her 
place  upon  the  roof. 


142  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  Quick,  Jenny,  quick  !  Help  me  to  tear  these 
bags  to  pieces.  We  must  have  a  rope." 

They  tore  the  bags  apart,  divided  them,  with 
the  aid  of  their  scissors,  into  long,  narrow  strips ; 
then  Becky's  nimble  fingers  twisted  them 
together. 

"  Now,  Jenny,  I'm  going  to  lower  you  to  the 
shed  ;  and  then  we're  safe." 

She  fastened  the  improvised  rope  about  Jenny's 
waist,  and  bore  her  to  the  edge  of  the  roof. 
She  then  passed  the  rope  around  the  chimney. 

"  Once  more,  Jenny.  Slide  over  the  roof,  and 
hold  on  to  the  rope." 

The  rope  slid  through  Becky's  hands,  and 
Jenny  was  upon  the  roof  below.  Then  the  brave 
girl,  casting  loose  the  trusty  cord,  advanced  to 
the  edge  of  the  roof,  and,  supporting  herself  a 
moment  by  her  hands,  dropped  beside  her  friend. 
None  too  soon ;  for,  while  she  clung  there,  up 
through  the  scuttle  appeared  the  flaming  head 
of  the  advancing  column  of  fire. 

It  was  still  ten  feet  from  the  stable  to  the 
ground,  and  no  time  to  be  lost. 

"  Slide  down  the  roof,  Jenny,  and  drop  again. 
I'll  hold  you;  never  fear." 

She  stretched  herself   flat  upon  the  roof,  with 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  143 

the  rope  in  her  hands.  Jenny  slid  down,  and 
dropped  as  directed.  But  now  a  new  danger  to 
Becky  arose :  the  cord  had  become  entangled 
in  her  dress ;  and,  as  Jenny  descended,  she 
found  herself  being  dragged  down  the  roof.  But 
she  held  all  the  tighter  to  the  rope,  fearing  the 
shock  to  Jenny,  should  she  fall,  more  than  the 
danger  of  being  herself  plunged  headlong  from 
the  roof.  Faster  and  faster  they  went;  she  was 
nearing  the  edge  ;  she  must  go  over.  No.  Sud 
denly  the  cord  slacked.  Jenny  had  touched  the 
ground.  She  dropped  the  cord,  clutched  the 
gutter  with  all  her  strength,  her  body  swung 
round,  and  she  dropped  to  the  ground,  very 
ungracefully,  but  unhurt. 

44  O,  Becky,  you've  saved  my  life  !  Can  I  ever 
repay  you." 

Jenny  lay  upon  the  ground,  with  clasped  hands 
and  streaming  eyes.  Becky  stood  by  her  side, 
looking  ruefully  at  the  burning  building.  No 
more  work  there. 

44  Yes,  Jenny,  I  believe  I've  saved  both  our 
lives.  But  there's  one  thing  I  forgot;  and  it's 
just  like  me.  Your  crutch  !  I  might  have  saved 
that  too." 

Not  quite  a   thoughtful,   earnest   woman  yet, 


144  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Becky;  but  this  day  the  climbing  frolics  of  the 
tomboy  days  have  enabled  you  to  glorify 
humanity  with  its  proudest  triumph  —  an  he 
roic  act  I 


THE  BURNING  MILL.— Page  142. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  145 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TEDDY   SLEEPER,    DINES   OUT. 

UST  before  the  breaking  out  of  the  fire  in 
the  paper  mill  Teddy  Sleeper,  sat  on  the 
11  door  step  awaiting  the  return  of  his 
sister.  He  was  particularly  uneasy  on  this  occa 
sion,  having  had  a  long  spell  of  fishing  with  no 
luck,  "  not  even  a  bite  "  and  was  very  impatient 
at  the  delay  in  obtaining  a  "bite"  at  home,  it 
being  the  invariable  rule  there,  to  wait  for 
Becky.  Teddy  under  the  wise  rule  of  his  sister 
had  lost  much  of  his  gaukiness  and  rough  speach 
but  had  lost  none  of  his  rotundity  of  form  and 
cool,  phlegmatic  disposition.  With  him  every 
thing  was  taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  Nothing 
ever  surprised  him  into  expressions  of  wonder, 
and  seldom  did  he  lose  his  temper.  The  sole 
disturber  of  his  peace  was  hunger  —  the  foe  that 
has  successfully  assailed  the  good  disposition 
of  many  wise  and  great  men.  Under  its 
10 


146  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

attacks  Teddy  grew  restless  and  disorderly.  Ho 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  do  something  rash,  when 
his  keen  eye  discovered  smoke  rolling  up  ovei 
the  paper  mill,  and  the  cry  of  "  Fire  !  fire  !  fire ! " 
faintly  reached  his  ears.  He  rolled  off  the  step, 
took  a  long  look  in  the  direction  of  the  smoke, 
then  started  down  the  hill.  Reaching  the  church, 
he  saw  Phil  Hague  standing  before  the  captain's 
house,  shading  his  eyes  and  looking  up  the  road. 
People  were  hurrying  toward  the  fire. 

"Phil,  Phil,  its  the  paper  mill!" 

u  Is  that  so  ?  Bedad,  its  foine  kindlings  they 
have  there  for  a  blaze." 

"  Come  on.     Let's  get  out  the   ingine." 

uWhat  for,  I  dunno?"  said  Phil,  scratching 
his  head. 

"  To  put  out  the  fire.  Here,  Jackson,  the 
ingine.  Hold  on,  Smith,  help  run  her  up. 
Come  on,  Phil." 

Teddy  run  to  the  engine  house,  followed  by 
Phil,  and  Smith  and  Jackson,  who  were  on 
their  way  to  the  fire. 

The  engine  was  kept  next  door  to  the  church. 
It  was  a  heavy,  old-fashioned  affair,  not  much 
larger  than  a  good-sized  wash-tub,  had  not  been 
moved  for  years,  and  it  was  very  doubtful  if  it 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  147 

could  be  made  to  work.  Of  this  Teddy  took 
no  thought.  There  was  a  fire,  and  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  have  it  on.  the  spot. 
So  they  pulled  it  out  and  started  down  the  hill 
as  fast  as  they  could  run.  Not  being  experi 
enced  firemen,  they  did  not  use  any  "  hold 
back"  measures,  and  the  consequence  was,  half 
way  down  the  hill  they  found  the  "ingine" 
close  upon  their  heels,  and  themselves  in  danger 
of  being  crushed.  With  one  accord  they  drop 
ped  the  rope,  and  sprang  to  the  sides  of  the  road. 
4 'Cataract"  -this  was  the  name  by  which  the 
extinguisher  was  known — being  deserted  by  its 
leaders,  went  thundering  down  the  hill  and  tip 
ped  over  at  the  bottom. 

"  By  my  sowl,"  said  -Phil  Hague,  "  that's  a 
quare  way  of  putting  out  a  fire.  The  contrary 
divil's  laid  down  for  a  nap." 

"Come  on,  it  ain't  hurt;  let's  set  it  up  and 
lug  it  up  the  hill,"  said  Teddy  hurrying  to  the 
prostrate  Cataract. 

They  managed  to  get  it  upon  its  wheels  again, 
tugged  up  the  hill  with  the  their  heavy  burden, 
and  at  last  reached  the  fire.  A  hose  was  Jaid 
and  the  engine  manned,  but  the  rusty  machine 
refused  to  work.  All  this  time  Teddy  had  been 


148  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

sweating  and  hurrying  to  get  it  in  operation. 
It  was  a  sore  disappointment  to  him  after  all 
his  trouble. 

Mark  Small  came  along  at  that  moment. 

"Its  no  use,  boys,  there's  been  no  washers  on 
them  pumps  this  five  years." 

There  was  a  laugh  from  the  crowd  and  Teddy 
turned  away  with  a  very  red  face. 

"  The  best  engine  in  the  world  would  be  of 
no  use  now.  She's  got  to  burn,"  said  Small, 
looking  at  his  buildings,  now  enveloped  in  flames. 
"  Much  obliged  to  you,  Teddy,  all  the  same. 
Tell  you  what  you  can  do.  There's  little  York 
frightened  most  to  death.  Becky  got  her  out 
just  in  time.  Just  you  take  my  team  and  get 
her  home.  That's  a  good  fellow." 

Teddy  followed  the  direction  of  Small's  point 
ing  finger,  and  saw  Jenny  York  crouching  on 
the  ground  beside  Becky.  In  a  moment  he  was 
beside  the  girls. 

"  Hello,  girls,  had  a  narrow  squeak  of  it.  Say, 
Becky,  Small  says  you  got  her  out.  Is  that  so?" 

"Yes,  I  did,  Teddy.  Ain't  you  glad?"  said 
Becky. 

"  Glad  ;  you  bet  I  am.  Bully  for  you.  Hur 
rah  for  Becky  Sleeper." 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  149 

The  crowd  took  up  the  shout,  and  Becky 
received  an  ovation.  Just  then  Small  drove  up 
in  his  wagon. 

"  Come,  Teddy,  get  the  girls  home,  quick." 

He  leaped  from  his  seat  and  took  Jenny  in 
his  arms  and  placed  her  in  the  wagon. 

"  There's  room  for  you,  too,  Becky.  Jump 
in.  God  bless  you,  girl.  It's  hard  to  lose  all  I 
have  in  the  world,  but  it  would  have  been 
harder  to  bear  had  there  been  a  life  lost." 

Becky  climbed  into  the  wagon  followed  by 
Teddy  who  took  up  the  reins  and  drove  away. 
As  they  moved  off  the  excited  crowd,  who  had 
witnessed  Becky's  valor,  shouted  until  Becky 
was  out  of  sight,  "  Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah ! " 
As  they  flew  down  the  road  Jenny  poured  into 
the  ears  of  Teddy  Sleeper  the  exciting  narrative 
of  the  escape. 

"  That's  just  like  her,  Jenny.  Hi,  lively, 
Spotty.  She's  a  bouncer,  I  tell  you.  And  she's 
my  sister.  Ain't  I  proud  of  her?  Oh,  no  — 
get  up,  Spotty,"  cried  Teddy,  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  narrative.  "  And  I  lugged  that  plaguy 
old  ingine  up  all  for  nothing.  She  does  all  the 
brave  things,  and  I  ain't  no  account.  Don't 
care,  she's  my  sister.  Hi,  there,  Spotty,  what 
are  ye  about?  She's  my  sister." 


150  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Spotty  was  the  name  of  Small's  horse  —  an 
explanation  rather  necessary,  in  view  of  the 
manner  in  which  Teddy  mixed  his  sentences. 

Having  safely  deposited  his  sister  at  home, 
Teddy  drove  on  to  Jenny's  house.  Mrs.  York 
was  surprised  at  the  appearance  of  Jenny  in  the 
middle  of  the  day.  The  family  had  heard  noth 
ing  about  the  fire,  and  were  about  sitting  down 
to  dinner  when  Teddy  arrived  with  his  charge. 

"  Bless  the  child,  where  did  you  come  from  ? 
What's  the  matter  ? "  cried  Mrs.  York,  appear 
ing  in  the  doorway,  as  Teddy  carefully  deposited 
Jenny  on  the  step. 

"  Been  a  fire  !  Mill's  gone  —  clean  gone  !  " 
said  Teddy.  "  So  I  brought  Jenny  home." 

"Mill's  burned?  Sakes  alive!  How  on  earth 
did  you  get  out?  Do  you  hear  that,  father? 
Mill's  gone  —  clean  gone." 

"  I  got  out  because  Becky  Sleeper  saved  me, 
mother,"  said  Jenny,  quietly,  as  she  took  her 
mother's  hand  to  get  into  the  house.  "  Had  it 
not  been  for  her  you'd  have  had  no  crippled 
daughter  to  care  for  more." 

"  My  gracious  !  you  don't  mean  it,"  cried  Mrs. 
York,  hastily  closing  the  door,  regardless  of 
Teddy  standing  outside.  Teddy  turned  away 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  j 

with  a  disappointed  air.  The  grateful  incense 
of  a  boiled  dinner  had  been  wafted  to  his  hun 
gry  spirit,  through  the  open  door.  He  remem 
bered  the  time,  when  on  a  charitable  mission, 
that  same  door  had  been  closed  to  him,  and 
thought  that  if  a  little  charity  should  be  ex 
tended  to  him  from  the  other  side,  hungry  as  he 
was  he  could  not  refuse  it.  He  climbed  to  his 
seat,  took  up  the  reins,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
starting  off  when  the  door  opened  again. 

"  Here,  Teddy,  Teddy  Sleeper,  don't  go  yet." 
It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs.  York.  "  You  mustn't 
mind  my  shuttin'  the  door.  I'm  so  flurried  to 
think  that  our  Jenny's  come  so  near  never 
comin'  home  again.  Come  in  and  have  some 
dinner.  We  ain't  got  much,  but  what  we  have 
is  good,  for  I  cooked  it  myself.  Don't  be  bash 
ful.  Come  in,  and  welcome." 

Teddy  stopped  not  for  further  invitation,  but 
quickly  fastened  Spotty  and  entered  the  house. 
The  table  was  spread  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
its  centre  embellished  with  a  huge  platter  in 
which  reposed  a  smoking  piece  of  corned-beef, 
almost  hidden  by  the  surrounding  accompani 
ment  of  turnips,  carrots,  parsnips,  cabbage  and 
potatoes.  Near  it  was  an  enormous  dish  of 


152  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

squash.  There  was  a  plate  of  brown  bread, 
another  of  white,  a  castor,  a  huge  coffee  pot, 
cups  and  saucers,  plates,  knives  and  forks. 
Teddy  took,  it  all  in  at  a  glance.  There  was 
enough  for  all,  he  should  not  be  robbing  the 
poor  if  he  helped  to  dispose  of  the  feast.  Yet 
the  supply  of  squash  so  far  exceeded  the  usual 
provision  made  for  such  an  occasion  that  he 
could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  it. 

"  Father  "  York  who  was  on  the  lounge,  when 
he  entered  raised  his  eyes  and  said  "  How 
do  you  do  ?  "  in  a  very  weak  voice. 

"  Come,  father,  dinner's  all  on  the  table." 

"  Father  "  rose  quickly,  and  took  his  place  -at 
the  foot  of  the  table.  Mrs.  York  motioned 
Teddy  to  a  seat  next  him.  Jenny  took  her 
place,  and  the  two  younger  Yorks,  about  four 
and  six  years  old  scrambled  to  their  places. 

"  Why,  where's  Johnny  ? "  said  Mrs.  York, 
about  to  do  the  honors  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  here  afore  we  get  through,  I 
guess,"  said  father  York,  "  he  never  loses  a 
meal." 

There  was  a  scrambling  at  the  back  door,  it 
flew  open,  and  Johnny  York  made  his  appear 
ance.  He  was  about  eleven  years  old.  A  red- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  153 

headed,  freckled-faced  boy,  with  eyes  like  a 
sculpin.  With  much  haste  he  tossed  his  hat  on 
the  lounge,  dragged  a  chair  across  the  floor, 
jumped  into  his  seat,  and  fastened  his  eyes  upon 
the  dish  of  squash. 

"  Squash  !  "  he  ejaculated,  lifting  his  plate. 

"  Wait,  sonny,  wait ;  don't  you  see  we  have 
company,"  said  Mrs.  York. 

Johnny  looked  round  the  table,  saw  Teddy, 
grinned,  then  fastened  his  eyes  on  his  favorite 
dish. 

Mrs.  York  helped  Teddy  and  Jenny  and  then 
looked  at  Johnny. 

"  Squash,"  answered  Johnny  to  the   look. 

Into  his  plate  Mrs.  York  heaped  the  yellow 
vegetable  in  such  profusion  that  Teddy  stared. 
The  youngster  seemed  not  a  bit  discouraged  by 
the  supply  but  attacked  it  at  once.  The  two 
smaller  children  were  also  helped  from  the 
same  dish,  paying  no  attention  to  the  contents 
of  the  principal  platter.  With  a  great  many 
groans  Mr.  York  supplied  his  own  plate  bounti 
fully,  and  set  to  work  like  a  man  ravenously 
hungry.  Teddy  kept  him  company  —  he  had 
fasted  long  and  he  was  tempted  by  a  favorite 
dinner. 


154  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  Teddy,"  said  Mrs.  York,  "  we  can  never  be 
grateful  enough  to  that  dear  sister  of  yours, 
and  only  think,  we  turned  her  away  from  our 
doors." 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Mr.  York,  "  and  refused  her 
bounty.  It  was  cruel,  and  if  ever  there  was  a 
thing  a  poor  sick  man  hankered  for,  it  was 
what  she  brought." 

"  Squash  ! "  burst  out  Johnny,  raising  his  empty 
plate. 

Teddy  stopped  eating  and  looked  at  Johnny. 
The  boy's  eyes  stood  out  hungrier  than  ever. 
Mrs.  York  quietly  refilled  his  plate. 

"  Oh,  she's  the  dearest  girl,  mother,  you  ever 
saw.  If  you'd  only  seen  her  in  the  loft,"  said 
Jenny,  "  tugging  away  at  that  great  ladder,  and 
then  carrying  me  up  in  her  arms,  and  so  gay 
about  it,  as  though  she  did  it  every  day.  I  was 
frightened  almost  to  death,  but  when  I  saw  how 
calm  she  was,  it  made  me  quiet.  I  thought  if 
I  must  die,  it  would  not  be  alone.  And  then  I 
thought  that  was  selfish  and  wanted  her  to  go 
and  leave  me  to  my  fate.  Oh,  mother,  it  was 
a  happy  day  for  me  when  she  came  to  the 
mill." 

"  It  was  a  happy  day  for  us  all,  Jenny,"  said 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  155 

Mrs.  York.  "  What  should  we  do  without  our 
'singing  Jenny  ?  Have  some  more  beef,  Teddy. 
I  declare  you're  not  eating  anything." 

Teddy  looked  up  to  see  if  she  was  not  mak 
ing  fun  of  him  for  he  had  already  made  away 
with  two  generous  supplies.  But,  no,  there  was 
110  fun  in  her  eye,  and  he  passed  his  plate. 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Mr.  York,  "  we  have  much  to 
be  grateful  for.  Poor  health  is  an  awful  pull- 
back  to  a  man  who's  willin'  to  do  all  he  can, 
but  to  lose  children  after  they've  begun  to  earn 
something,  is  a  special  dispensation  of  Provi 
dence  that  goes  agin'  the  grain.  I  Always  told 
Small  that  mill  of  his  would  end  in — " 

"  Squash  !  "  sung  out  Johnny,  lifting  an  empty 
plate  again. 

"  Squash  !  "  echoed  number  four. 

"  Squash  !  "  chimed  in  number  five. 

Teddy  saw  three  uplifted  plates  and  ceased  to 
wonder  at  the  enormous  provision.  Without  a 
murmur  Mrs.  York  plied  the  big  iron  spoon 
once  more,  and  the  youngsters  again  set  to 
work. 

"And "to  think  that  girl  should  turn  out  so 
well  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  York.  "She  was  the 
most  harum  scarum  thing  I  ever  saw  when  she 
was  a  young  girl." 


156  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"Ah,  we  must  never  judge  by  appearances,'1 
sighed  Mr.  York.  "That's  what  I  tell  Mason 
when  I  have  my  bad  spells  come  on.  4  York,' 
he  says,  '  don't  be  a  fool.  You're  tough  enough 
if  you  only  keep  to  work.  You're  as  strong  and 
healthy  a  looking  man  as  I  am.'  Ah,  he  little' 
knows  what  a  sinking  there  is  my  stomach  and 
how  weak  I  get,  and  don't  have  the  least  bit 
of  appetite.  Ah,  I'm  slowly  but  surely  fading 
away,  fading  away." 

"  Don't,  father,  don't  talk  so.  You  make  me 
feel  miserable,"  said  Mrs.  York,  laying  down 
her  knife  and  looking  at  the  sufferer  with  real 
distress  in  her  face. 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  sighed  York,  taking  up  his 
knife  and  fork,  and  dashing  at  his  plate  with 
vigor.  "  I  know  its  wrong  to  distress  you,  but 
what  can  a  man  do  who  feels  the  all-devouring 
worm  continually  crying  —  " 

"  Squash  !  "  interrupted  Johnny. 

"  No,  sir,  no  more,"  said  Mrs.  York,  firmly. 
"  Mercy  sakes,  do  you  want  to  turn  into  a 
squash  vine,  and  have  squashes  grow  out  all 
over  you?  No  more." 

Johnny  said  not  a  word,  but  pushed  back  his 
chair,  grabbed  his  cap,  and  slid  out  of  the  back 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  157 

door.  The  little  Yorks  who  were  on  the  point 
of  joining  their  petitions  with  that  of  their 
brother,  awed  by  the  stern  tone  of  their  mother, 
or  frightened  at  the  probable  result  of  too  much 
indulgence,  dropped  their  plates  and  were  silent. 
Teddy,  having  fully  appeased  his  appetite,  thought 
of  Spotty. 

41 1  believe  I  must  be  goin'.  Hadn't  ought  to 
have  stopped  so  long.  Mr.  Small  will  be  want 
ing  his  horse." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Teddy.  Well,  if 
you  must  go  —  come  again,  will  be  glad  to  see 
you  any  time,  won't  we,  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  and  your  sister,  too,  and  she 
shan't  be  turned  out  of  doors,  if  she  ever  feels 
like  bringing  something  nice  to  a  poor  sick 
man,"  said  Mr.  York. 

"  Don't,  father,  speak  of  such  a  thing,"  cried 
Jenny.  "  She's  done  enough  for  us.  Don't  take 
such  a  message  as  that,  Teddy,  but  tell  her  we 
all  love  her  dearly,  and  will  never  think  of  her 
but  as  the  best  girl  in  Cleverly." 

"  That's  so,  Jenny.  I  knew  folks  would  find 
out  how  clever  she  is,"  said  Teddy,  "  and  she's 
my  sister.  Good  bye.  I  really  must  be  going," 
and  he  started  for  the  door.  Outside  he  found 


158  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Spotty  impatiently  pulling  at  his  tether,  and 
jumping  into  the  wagon  he  started  off.  As  he 
drove  into  the  main  street  he  found  a  group  of 
men  and  boys  discussing  the  fire,  and  by  their 
motions  enacting  the  scene  in  which  Becky  had 
taken  a  prominent  part.  Further  on  another 
group  with  the  same  subject  under  consideration, 
and  a  third  were  on  the  steps  of  the  church. 
As  he  passed  he  could  hear  his  sister's  name 
spoken  by  one  and  another.  In  a  cheerful  spirit, 
with  his  hungry  foe  completely  vanquished,  it  .is 
no  wonder  that  Teddy's  heart  glowed  at  the 
praises  he  heard,  and  felt  proud  of  its  connec 
tion  with  the  heroine  of  the  day. 

And  Becky  ;  how  bore  she  her  triumph  ?  Qui 
etly  she  entered  the  house  and  took  her  place 
at  her  mother's  side. 

"  No  more  work  to-day,  mother,  or  for  many 
days.  The  mill  is  burned  to  the  ground." 

"  Nobody  hurt,  Becky?"  with  an  anxious  look, 
said  the  mother. 

"  No,  all  safe  and  sound.  Nobody  lost  any 
thing  but  Mr.  Small." 

Aunt  Hulda  entered  the  room  at  that  moment. 

"  What's  that,  Becky  ?  "Where  have  you  been? 
Dinner's  cold  as  a  stone." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  159 

"  Jenny  was  very  sick  and  I  couldn't  leave 
her,  and  then  the  mill  took  fire  and  burnt  to 
the  ground." 

"  Mark  Small's  mill  burnt.  You  don't  mean 
it.  Why,  it  will  ruin  him,"  gasped  Aunt  Hulda. 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  he's  lost   everything." 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,  dear !  Its  the  Lord's  doins' 
and  I  'spose  we  must  be  resigned,"  cried  Aunt 
Hulda.  "  And  Mark  Small's  lost  everything," 
and  she  sat  down  and  rocked  briskly,  wringing 
her  hands. 

"Why,  Aunt  Hulda,  what  ails  you?  You'll 
lose  nothing.  Come,  give  me  my  dinner,  I'm  as 
hungry  as  a  bear.  I  can't  wait;  come  along," 
and  Becky  seized  Aunt  Hulda  by  main  force 
and  dragged  her  td  the  kitchen.  Not  a  word 
about  her  adventure  to  Aunt  Hulda,  not  a 
word  to  her  mother  on  her  return.  They  were 
left  in  ignorance  until  Teddy  puffing  with  haste 
burst  into  the  room.  He  ran  at  Becky  and 
seized  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Its  all  over  town.  I  tell  you,  everybody's 
talking  about  you.  You're  a  heroine,  Becky, 
and  I'm  your  brother." 

"What  on  airth  ails  the  boy?"  shrieked  Aunt 
Hulda.  "Is  he  mad?  What's  Becky  done 
now  ?  " 


160  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"What  has  she  clone,  Aunt  Hulda?  She 
dragged  Jenny  York  up  on  the  roof,  tore  up  the 
bags  and  let  her  down  to  the  ground,  when  the 
building  was  blazing  like  fury.  D'ye  hear  that, 
mother  ?  Our  Becky  did  it.  Ain't  you  proud 
of  her?  I  am." 

Becky  freed  herself  from  Teddy's  embrace, 
wondering  what  could  have  started  him  to  such 
a  proceeding,  he  always  so  cool  and  undemon 
strative.  She  looked  at  her  mother.  The  face 
of  the  invalid  was  flushed,  the  lips  moved  yet 
no  words  escaped  them,  but  in  the  -eyes  Becky 
read  the  rich  reward,  "  Well  done,  daughter." 
she  ran  to  her  mother's  side  and  put  her  arms 
about  her  neck. 

"  Poor  Jenny  York,  mother,  she  must  have 
died  without  me.  Thank  Heaven,  I  was  there, 
mother.  Thank  Him  that  I  knew  how  to  save 
her." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE,  161 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE   ROMANCE   OF  A  POOR   OLD  MAID. 

F  ever  a  man  had  reason  to  be  disappointed 
a*  ^e  wavs  °f  Providence,  that  man  was 
Mark  Small,  owner  of  the  mill,  whose 
earthly  possessions  had  vanished  in  fire  and  smoke. 
Twenty  years  before,  he  had  wandered  over  from 
Foxtown,  a  sunburnt  lad,  with  all  his  wardrobe 
—  a  cotton  shirt,  homespun  pants,  and  a  straw 
hat,  stuck  loosly  upon  his  thin  frame,  —  and  the 
sad  recollection  of  the  death-bed  of  his  father, 
a  dissipated  laborer,  firmly  fixed  in  his  memory.  In 
search  of  a  job  he  stumbled  into  Capt.  Thomp 
son's  kitchen,  where  he  was  treated  to  a  good, 
warm  meal,  and  afterwards  given  charge  of 
the  captain's  "  cattle  ;  "  i.  e.  a  lively  young  horse, 
and  a  quiet,  orderly  cow,  —  for  the  captain's 
domestic  establishment  was  then  on  a  very  small 
scale.  This  work  contented  him  for  five  years  ; 
when  a  desire  to  become  a  tin-peddler,  induced 
11 


162  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

the  captain  to  equip  him  with  a  horse  and  wagon, 
and  to  set  him  off  upon  his  travels.  A  very 
promising  year  at  this  business  was  ended  by 
the  disappearance  of  his  whole  stock  from  the 
breaking  of  a  bridge ;  and  the  bankruptcy  of  that 
concern  was  the  consequence.  Then  he  tried 
book-peddling  with  considerable  success,  until 
one  night  the  barn,  in  which  he  and  his  library 
had  taken  shelter  from  a  storm,  was  struck  by 
lightning  and  burned;  he  barely  escaping  with 
his  life.  Then  he  took  to  farming ;  —  cut  his 
leg  with  a  sythe,  and  was  laid  up  all  winter. 
So  fast  failures  followed  all  his  attempts  to 
rise  in  the  world,  that  he  jestingly  asserted  he 
must  have  been  named  Mark,  that  misfortune 
might  make  no  mistake  in  marking  him  for  its 
victim.  At  length  he  sought  employment  at  the 
paper  mill,  where  he  prospered ;  and  in  time,  by 
careful  saving  and  shrewd  management,  was  able 
to  purchase  the  whole  concern.  And  now  fire  had 
again  made  him  penniless.  Yet  he  sat  there, 
lounging  on  a  stone,  humming  a  tune,  and  whit 
tling  a  stick,  as  the  twilight  was  gathering,  and  the 
flickering  flames  dying  out  of  all  that  remained  of 
his  earthly  possessions.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  man, 
with  hollow  cheeks,  a  ring  of  grizzled  beard  encir- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  163 

cling  his  throat,  a  long,  sharp  nose,  and  a  pair  of 
rambling,  piercing  eyes,  which  were  now  fastened 
upon  the  fast  blackening  heap  before  him.  So 
deeply  was  he  interested  in  the  last  flashes  of 
his  expiring  treasures,  that  he  was  unconscious 
of  the  approach  of  footsteps,  until  a  hand  was 
laid  upon  his  shoulder. 

44  Mark,  if  it  wasn't  the  Lord's  doings,  I  should 
say  that  you're  the  worst  treated  man  in  Clev 
erly." 

Mark  started,  and  turned  to  see  the  sharp  eyes 
of  Hulda  Prime  looking  into  his  eagerly.  He 
was  not  quite  sure,  but  he  thought  they  looked 
moist  and  watery. 

44  Yes,  Hulda,  the  old  tune's  struck  up  again," 
—  by  which  Mark  meant  his  old  follower,  misfor 
tune  — u  I'd  kinder  lost  the  hang  of  it,  so  long 
since  I've  heeded  it,  but  now  it  seems  jist  as 
natral  as  4  auld  lang  syne.' ' 

44Mark,  I'm  real  sorry  for  you.  I  don't  know 
as  I'm  welcome,  but  I  couldn't  help  putting  on 
my  bunnet  and  coming  over  to  see  you,  if  'twas 
only  for  the  sake  of  '  auld  lang  syne  '  you  tell 
about." 

"  Well,  it's  real  kind  of  you,  Hulda ;  some 
thing  I  couldn't  expect ;  for  I  hain't  treated  you 
jest  right,  nohow." 


164  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Aunt  Hulda  shivered ;  it  couldn't  be  with  cold, 
for  the  warmth  of  the  failing  embers  was  still 
powerful. 

"  Seems  queer  you  should  drop  down  on  me 
jest  then,  Hulda  ;  for  I've  been  kinder  lookin' 
back,  and  jest  when  you  put  your  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  I  was  thinkin'  of  that  day  when  horse, 
wagon,  tin- ware  and  peddler,  went  through  the 
bridge  together." 

Aunt  Hulda  shivered  again,  and  somehow 
managed  to  slip  down  by  Small's  side.  He  took 
no  notice  of  the  circumstance,  but  went  on. 

"  Yes,  you  were  stopping  with  Mrs.  Johnson, 
helping  her  with  her  thanksgiving.  You  were 
a  smart  girl  those  days.  Not  handsome,  but 
kinder  good,  wholesome  lookin'.  Don't  you 
remember  my  coming  round  to  the  kitchen  and 
jokin'  you  about  Cyrus  Cheever,  who  was  kin 
der  makin'  up  to  you ;  and  I  sung  out  to  you, 
4  Don't  have  him,  Hulda,  wait  for  me.  I'll  call 
when  I  come  back,  and  pop  the  question.'  But 
I  drove  off  and  popped  through  the  bridge. 
Don't  you  remember  it?" 

Hulda  Prime  answered  not.  Her  elbows  were 
on  her  knees,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her  eyes 
looking  into  the  gleaming  ruins,  where  broken 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  165 

walls  and  twisted  machinery,  stood  as  monuments 
of  destruction. 

Remember  it !  had  she  not  waited  for  that 
return  ?  had  she  not  taken  to  heart  those  playful 
words  ?  And  out  of  them  woven  a  bright  dream, 
and  built  upon  it  year  by  year,  the  only  romance 
of  her  solitary  life. 

"  I  meant  it,  Hulda,  true  as  gospel  I  meant  it." 

Hulda's  old  heart  gave  a  bound.  It  was  no 
jest  after  all. 

"  Yes,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  accident,  I 
should  have  come  back  and  asked  you  Hulda, 
true  as  preaching.  But  the  old  tune  struck  up, 
and  'twas  no  use  trying  to  get  up  a  wedding- 
dance  to  such  music  as  that.  And  then  when  I 
got  in  luck  again,  somehow,  I  kinder  got  stuck 
up,  and  got  used  to  being  my  own  master ;  but 
I  did  keep  kinder  thinkin'  on  you.  But  what's 
the  use  of  my  tellin'  you  all  this  ?  we've  got  by 
all  that  nonsense,  and  I'm  flat  on  by  back  agin, 
and  as  '  poor  as  a  puddock.'  I  don't  s'pose  it's 
very  manly  in  me  to  go  confessing  this  thing 
now  ;  but  I've  kinder  felt  mean  about  it,  and 
your  comin',  so  cleverly  and  neighborly  like,  when 
I've  nobody  to  feel  sorry  for  me,  has  sorter  made 
me  do  it." 


166  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Mark  Small  shifted  about  uneasily  in  his  seat, 
and  whittled  very  briskly,  and  tried  to  whistle  ; 
but  he  found  it  hard  to  "  pucker,"  and  could 
not  muster  a  note. 

Aunt  Hulda  shivered,  and  looked  off  into  the 
ruins ;  and  nursed  her  chin  in  her  hand,  and 
thought,  " '  We've  got  by  all  that  nonsense/ 
have  we  ?  "  Perhaps  he  had.  She  had  not.  No  I 
Mark  Small  had  been  the  idol  of  her  younger 
days  —  her  hero  —  by  no  means  a  handsome 
one  ;  neither  brave  or  gifted ;  yet  she  had  loved 
him  dearly,  without  any  hope  of  being  his 
wife,  and  now  to  find  that  he  had  thought  of  her, 
had  wished  to  marry  her,  was  happiness  enough 
to  pay  for  all  the  waiting,  though  they  might 
never  come  any  nearer  to  each  other, —  though,  as 
he  said,  "  they  had  got  by  all  that  nonsense.  " 

She  spoke  at  last. 

"  Mark,  I'm  glad  you  told  me  this.  You 
needn't  be  ashamed  of  it,  neither.  It's  a  manly 
thing  for  you  to  do.  It's  wiped  out  some  hard 
thoughts  I've  had  of  you ;  for  I  want  you  to 
understand  that  if  you'd  come  back  then,  Cyrus 
Cheever,  or  any  other  man,  would  have  been 
no  consequence  at  all." 

And  because  all  that  nonsense  had   died   out, 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  167 

Hulda's  hand  fell  upon  Mark's,  and  the  ruined 
paper  maker  dropped  his  knife,  and  clasped  it; 
and  both  gazed  wistfully  into  the  ruins,  as  the 
twilight  darkened,  and  the  fires  burned  dimmer. 

"  Mark,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you.  What  will 
you  do  now?  Your  mill  is  ruined.  'Twill  take 
a  heap  of  money  to  build  it  up  again." 

"  I  don't  know,  Hulda ;  but  I  ain't  a  bit  scart. 
I've  begun  too  many  times  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ladder,  to  give  up  now." 

"  Trust  in  the  Lord,  Mark,  trust  in  the  Lord. " 

"  That's  good,  pious  doctrine,  Hulda,  but  I'm 
kinder  unsteady  on  religious  pints,  and  I  think 
the  Lord  does  the  handsome  thing,  when  he  gives 
us  this  world,  with  all  its  fruits  and  products, 
and  store  of  materials  to  work  and  weave,  and 
brains  to  think,  and  arms  to  work ;  and  we  serve 
him  best  when  we  take  all  this,  on  trust,  and 
turn  it  over,  and  work  it  up,  and  do  the  very 
best  we  can,  givin'  him  the  glory.  That's  my 
religion,  Hulda,  and  I  mean  to  live  by  it.  And 
if  I  can  do  that,  I  ain't  afraid  it  won't  carry 
me  over  the  river.  I  ain't  agoin'  to  trouble  him 
to  set  me  goin',  but  jest  look  'round,  find  suthin' 
to  do,  and  then  pitch  in  with  a  will." 

Hulda  groaned  in  spirit,  but  kept  her  lips  fast 


168  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

closed.  This  was  not  exactly  what  Parson 
Arnold  preached,  and  the  self-reliant  religion  of 
Mark  Small,  had  a  shade  of  blasphemy  to  her 
orthodox  ears. 

u  Hulda,  I  wouldn't  sit  here  any  longer  if  I 
were  you.  It's  getting  dark  and  cold.  I'll  walk 
down  the  road  with  you.  It's  good  of  you  to 
come,  and  I  think  I  feel  better  for  getting  to 
be  good  friends  with  you  again.  I  thought  the 
old  feelin'  had  died  out,  but  it  hain't,  and  if  ever 
I  get  on  my  feet  agen, — " 

"Is  that  you,  Mark  Small?" 

A  burly  form  came  between  them  and  the 
light.  Hulda  recognized  it,  and  sprang  to  her 
feet.  Captain  Thompson,  the  last  man  she 
expected  to  meet  stood  before  them.  She  darted 
back  of  Mark  Small,  out  of  the  light.  The 
captain  took  no  notice  of  her,  supposing  her  one 
of  the  employees  of  the  mill. 

"  Yes,  Captain,  here  I  am,  watching  the  remains. 
The  old  mill's  done  for — and  so  am  I." 

The  captain  came  forward  with  outstretched 
hands. 

"Mark,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  If  it  had  been 
one  of  my  ships,  I  couldn't  have  felt  worse.  I've 
been  out  of  town  all  day.  Just  heard  of  it. 
Swept  clean  away,  hey  ?  " 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  169 

"Yes,  Captain,  all  gone.  Some  of  the  machinery 
might  be  saved,  but  it  can  do  no  good.  What's 
the  use  of  a  horse,  if  you  can't  get  a  stable  for 
him  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  build  a 
stable  for  your  iron  horses." 

"It's  easy  enough  to  talk,  but  where's  the 
money  coming  from?" 

"  How  much  will  it  take  to  set  the  mill  agoing 
again?" 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,"  said  Mark,  with  a 
very  faint  whistle. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars !"  echoed  the  captain, 
with  a  louder  whistle.  "Any  insurance?" 

Not  a  cent's  worth!"  said  Mark;  "it's  too 
risky.  You  see  a  little  combustible  cotton  has 
swept  away  my  fortune  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

"  Nobody  hurt,  was  there  ? "  queried  the  cap 
tain. 

"No.  Thanks  to  brave  little  Becky  Sleeper, 
even  the  little  cripple  was  got  out.  That's  a  brave 
girl,  Captain.  She'll  be  the  town  talk  to-morrow. 
Her  skill  in  climbing  and  lifting  stood  her  friend 
to-day.  She's  a  wide-awake  Sleeper.  Pity  we 
hadn't  more  tomboys  like  her  about." 

"  She  of  any  use  ?  you  surprise  me,  Mark." 


170  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

Hulda  drew  a  step  nearer.  With  her  pet  for  a 
subject,  the  conversation  was  becoming  interesting. 

"  Yes,  while  the  building  was  in  flames,  she 
dragged  Jenny  York  to  the  roof,  and  lowered  her 
to  the  ground;"  and  Small  related  the  adventure, 
painting  in  glowing  colors  the  heroism  of  Becky 
Sleeper. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  captain  at  the  close  of 
the  narrative,  "  I'm  glad  she's  done  something 
to  redeem  her  bad  character." 

Hulda  Prime  took  another  step  forward,  and 
clenched  her  fist.  The  captain  never  knew  how 
narrowly  he  escaped  an  assault.  "  The  ugly 
brute!"  she  thought,  "he  should  repent  that 
speech."  But  remembering  she  had  no  right  to 
interfere  in  that  place,  she  smothored  her  ruf 
fled  feelings,  and  listened. 

uAnd  you  say  ten  thousand  dollars  would  be 
required  to  rebuild  the  mill.  A  big  sum,  a  very 
big  sum;"  and  the  captain  rubbed  his  hand 
thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  the  stock's  gone  clean  ;  but  my  agent 
in  Boston  would  fill  me  up,  if  I  could  only  get 
the  mill  on  its  legs  again." 

"Hem!  pays  good  profit,  hey?"  asked  the 
captain. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"Splendid!  I  had  a  customer  for  all  I  could 
make.  Might  rebuild  on  shares  with  my  agents. 
I  guess  they'd  come  down  with  five  thousand,  if 
I  could  show  the  other  five." 

"  Would  they,"  said  the  captain,  lighting  up, 
"  then  you're  all  right,  Small.  All  right !  build 
it  up  and  set  it  agoing." 

"  Yes,  but  where's  my  five  thousand  coming 
from?" 

"  Out  of  my  pocket,  Small.  'Tain't  the  first 
time  I've  set  you  up  in  business.  And  though 
you've  failed  many  times,  I've  never  lost  a  cent. 
You've  paid  me  up  principal  and  interest.  And 
the  money's  yours,  when  you  want  it  to  set  things 
agoing.  And  if  your  agents  won't  go  in  with 
you,  why,  I  will ;  though  where  so  much  money's 
coming  from,  I  can't  exactly  see." 

Small  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  eyes  full  of 
tears. 

"  Captain  Thompson,  you're  a  friend  worth 
having ;  you've  put  new  life  into  me.  I  thought 
my  best  friend  was  gone  when  the  old  mill  burnt  ; 
but  I'm  all  right  now."  And  he  seized  Captain 
Thompson's  hand  and  shook  it  warmly. 

"  That's  all  right,  Small.  Don't  say  any  more 
about  it.  And  don't  let  it  leak  out ;  I  don't  like 
to  have  my  doings  known." 


172  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  But  they  shall  be  known,  you  ugly  old  angel," 
cried  Hulda  Prime,  pouncing  upon  the  Captain, 
and  shaking  his  hand  with  energy. 

"  Hulda  Prime,  you  here  !  "  cried  the  astonished 
Captain  ;  backing  away  and  endeavoring  to  release 
his  hand, — 

"  Yes,  and  I  bless  the  Lord  I  am  here,  to  see 
such  a  noble  spirit.  Captain  Thompson,  I've 
said  hard  things  about  you,  and  to  your  face, 
too ;  but  I  take' em  all  back, —  except  about 
Harry  —  that  I  will  stick  to." 

Remembering  what  had  been  said  about  Harry, 
the  Captain  was  not  well  pleased  at  the  reser 
vation. 

"  Miss  Prime,  I  am  surprised  to  find  you  here." 
began  he,  sternly. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be.  Mark  Small  and  I 
are  old  friends,  and  so  I  ran  over  to  console 
him  and  bid  him  trust  in  the  Lord.  And  I 
guess  he  did,  after  all,  for  nobody  else  could 
have  sent  you  here  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 
You're  just  splendid.  Folks  round  here  pity 
Miss  Thompson  because  she's  got  such  a  brute 
of  a  husband.  But  they  needn't.  You're  just 
as  good  as  you  can  be,  and  I've  a  great  mind 
to  hug  you." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  173 

The  Captain  grew  red,  and  the  Captain  grew 
pale.  He  never  felt  in  such  deadly  peril  before. 

"  Come,  Captain,  shake  hands  and  forgive  me." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand.  The  Captain  hesi 
tated —  then  took  it. 

"  You'll  never  regret  this  night's  work  as  long 
as  you  live, —  never  !  And  I'll  never  go  to  sleep 
at  night  without  a  prayer  for  Captain  Thomp 
son." 

"  Pray  as  much  as  you  please,  Hulda ;  I  shall 
need  it  all.  But  if  we  are  to  be  friends,  not  a 
word  of  what  has  been  said  to-night,  in  Cleverly. 
You  understand?" 

"  If  you  insist  on  hiding  your  light  under  a 
bushel,  I'm  not  mean  enough  to  kick  it  over  with- 
your  consent.  But  it's  a  shame.  Everybody 
ought  to  know  what  a  good  man  you  are." 

The  Captain  turned  on  his  heel.  "  Good  night, 
Hulda  !  Good  night,  Mark !  I'll  see  you  in  the 
morning." 

"  Good  night,  Captain !  You've  made  my  sleep 
hearty  to-night ,"  cried  Small. 

"Good  night,  Captain.  God  bless  you!" 
cried  Hulda.  And  so  they  parted. 

The  Captain  laughed  to  himself,  as  he  marched 
into  the  road ;  but  there  he  met  his  son  Harry. 


174  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

He  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  without 
recognition  passed  him  by  as  he  would  a  stranger. 

41  The  Lord  sent  him,  Mark,  to-night,  you 
believe  that?"  said  Hulda,  as  the  Captain  disap 
peared. 

"The  Lord  put  a  noble  heart  in  his  breast,  and 
it  turned  him  toward  the  old  mill.  It's  the 
same  thing,  Hulda ;  but  you  and  I  look  at  it  in 
a  different  light.  Now  I'll  beau  you  home.  You 
don't  get  a  beau  every  night,  Hulda." 

"  I  never  wanted  but  one,  and  he  never  hap 
pened  along  until  to-night." 

They  laughed  merrily  and  started  off,  arm  in 
arm,  only  a  few  steps,  and  they  came  plump 
upon  Harry  Thompson. 

"  Hullo  !  Small,  is  that  you  ?  I  came  up  to 
offer  a  little  friendly  consolation,  but  you  seem 
in  good  spirits.  What,  Aunt  Hulda,  you  here ! 
What's  the  meaning  of  this  ? "  and  Harry  for 
once,  looked  very  sober. 

"The  fire  is  all  out,  Harry,"  said  Small,  con 
fused. 

"Is  it?"  said  Harry,  "There's  no  danger  of 
its  rekindling."  He  looked  hard  at  Aunt  Hulda. 
He  could  not  understand  the  situation.  Until 
now,  he  supposed  the  two  were  strangers.  Their 
confused  manner  was  a  puzzle,  too. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  175 

"There's  no  vestige  of  a  flame  there,"  said 
Small,  "  not  a  spark.  All  dead  and  gone." 

Harry  looked  as  though  there  was  a  flame  very 
near  to  Small,  but  said  nothing  about  it. 

"  I  just  ran  up  to  look  after  you,  Small,  to 
see  that  you  did  not  get  down  in  the  mouth, 
and  to  say  for  my  mother,  that  if  you  need  help, 
there's  money  in  her  purse  at  your  command. 
Good  night !  Look  out  for  the  sparks,  Aunt 
Hulda."  And  with  a  laugh  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  walked  away. 

"Wonder  if  the  Lord  sent  him?"  growled 
Mark.  Aunt  Hulda  said  nothing.  The  situation 
in  which  she  found  herself,  was  very  awkward, 
and  she  trudged  along  with  her  arm  in  Mark's, 
very  much  like  a  lamb  led  to  slaughter.  This 
could  not  continue  long  however,  and  e'er 
they  reached  the  Sleeper  place,  their  tongues 
were  loosened,  and  they  found  themselves  build 
ing  castles  as  airy  and  fleecy  as  lovers  are 
accustomed  to  shape  in  the  years  allotted  to 
youth  and  romance. 


176  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BECKY   BEARDS   THE    LION  IN  HIS   DEN. 

|ITH  the  burning  of  the  mill,  Becky's 
march  towards  independence  was  stayed 
for  a  while  by  the  failure  of  supplies. 
There  was  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  Clev 
erly  folks  to  lionize  the  young  girl  for  the  brave 
deed  she  had  accomplished.  Much  to  her  sur 
prise,  people  who  had  before  shunned  her  took 
particular  pains  to  call  arid  thank  her  for  the 
heroism  she  had  displayed.  Deacon  Procter's 
wife  —  a  woman  who,  in  the  tomboy  days,  had 
caught  her  among  the  melons,  who  had  told  her 
she  was  on  the  broad  road  to  destruction  — 
smiled  upon  her  kindly,  patted  her  cheek,  and 
called  her  a  brave,  good  girl,  and  the  pride  of 
the  town.  Parson  Arnold,  who  before  had  pulled 
his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  stepped  one  side,  when 
he  met  her,  now  benevolently  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  head,  with  a  blessing.  Even  the  boys  — 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  177 

Teddy's  cronies  —  gathered  about  the  house,  and, 
on  her  appearance  at  the  door  or  the  window, 
testified  their  approbation  of  her  conduct  by  loud 
and  prolonged  cheering ;  while  buxom  Mrs.  York 
visited  the  house  regularly  every  day  for  a  week, 
to  clasp  Becky  in  her  arms  with  such  a  strength 
of  gratitude  that  the  girl  really  feared  the  breath 
would  be  driven  from  her  body. 

All  this  was  a  source  of  wonder  to  her.  She 
had  felt  a  glow  of  pleasure  when  she  saw  the 
flush  on  her  mother's  cheek,  the  tears  standing 
in  her  eyes,  and  a  faint  smile  upon  her  lips. 
There  was  something  very  warming  to  her  heart, 
when  Aunt  Hulda  said,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head, — 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  She's  a  brave,  good 
girl ;  and  I  knew  she'd  come  out  strong  when 
she  did  come ; "  with  a  defiant  glance  at  an  invis 
ible  somebody,  who  might  be  inclined  to  doubt 
her. 

Mrs.  Thompson's  warm  kiss  of  approval ; 
Harry's  loud  "  Well  done,  pet !  I'm  proud  of 
you  !  "  all  these  were  very  gratifying  to  her.  But 
these  outward  demonstrations  seemed  to  her 
something  to  which  she  was  not  entitled,  and  so 
dismayed  her  that  she  took  every  opportunity 
12 


178  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

possible  to  hide  herself  on  the  appearance  of 
visitors. 

The  destruction  of  the  mill  was  a  bitter  dis 
appointment  to  her.  She  had  set  her  heart  on 
earning  a  hundred  dollars.  She  had  reached 
ninety,  and  the  opportunity  had  vanished  in  fire 
and  smoke.  Not  all  the  praise  of  Cleverly  could 
compensate  her  for  this  loss.  But  though  dis 
appointed,  she  was  not  disheartened ;  and  leaving 
the  ninety  safely  locked,  like  the  good  woman 
in  the  Scriptures,  she  went  searching  about  to 
discover  the  missing  ten. 

October  came,  and  school  opened  once  more, 
Mr.  Drinkwater  in  his  place,  and  Becky  and 
Teddy  among  his  pupils.  For  a  time  the  young 
master,  with  his  lively  interest  in  their  studies 
and  out-door  pastimes,  his  original  way  of  mak 
ing  the  most  laborious  duties  pleasant,  was  missed ; 
but  Mr.  Drinkwater  was  an  earnest  teacher,  a 
kind  and  honorable  man,  methodical  in  his  coarse 
of  training,  and  under  his  charge  the  school 
prospered. 

Harry  Thompson  was  still  an  inmate  of  Mr. 
Drinkwater's  house,  chafing  under  the  restraint 
of  inaction,  yet  obedient  to  the  wishes  of  the 
mother  to  whom  he  owed  his  education,  whose 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  179 

loving  heart  could  not  harbor  the  thought  of  a 
long  absence,  and  whose  faith  in  the  reconcilia 
tion  that  would  place  her  son  in  his  home  was 
still  strong.  How  it  was  to  be  brought  about, 
she  knew  not ;  but  this  separation  was  unnatural ; 
it  must  have  an  end.  Only  have  patience,  and 
the  perfect  worker,  in  God's  good  time,  would 
mend  the  broken  threads. 

One  cold  November  afternoon,  Mrs.  Thomp 
son,  with  her  knitting  needles  busily  plying,  sat 
in  the  sitting-room  of  the  little  brown  house, 
now  made  very  comfortable  by  the  zealous 
workers.  A  miniature  bonfire  crackled  and  blazed 
in  the  broad  fireplace,  bountifully  supplied  by 
Harry  Thompson,  who  lazily  lounged  in  a  rock 
ing-chair  before  it,  and  divided  his  attention 
between  a  frequent  piling  of  sticks  and  the-  con 
tents  of  a  portfolio  in  his  lap. 

Into  this  cosy  retreat,  with  a  rush  of  cold  air, 
burst  Becky  Sleeper,  in  her  usual  dashing  style, 
flinging  her  books  on  the  sofa,  her  hat  in  one  cor 
ner,  her  cloak  in  another,  her  gloves  on  the 
mantel-piece,  and  herself  into  a  chair. 

"  There,  Aunt  Rebecca  !  I've  stood  this  just 
as  long  as  I'm  a  going  to.  I  must  earn  money 
somehow.  That  hateful  ten  got  into  two  of  my 


180  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

sums  to-day,  and  completely  ruined  them.  It 
haunts  me.  Master  Drink  water  asked  me  how 
many  straight  lines  there  were  in  a  dollar  mark, 
and  I  said  ten ;  how  many  senses  there  were, 
and  I  said  ten  ;  and  I  got  well  laughed  at.  It's 
no  use.  I  never  can  succeed  in  anything  more 
until  I  earn  that  ten  dollars.  So  don't  oppose 
me,  for  I'm  determined  to  get  work  at  the  woolen 
mill." 

Having  emphatically  launched  this  alarming, 
threat,  Becky  applied  herself  to  the  task  of  rais 
ing  the  temperature  of  that  truthful  thermometer, 
—  her  nose,  —  which  indicated  a  state  of  the 
weather  but  little  above  zero.  This  she  did  by 
a  brisk  application  of  her  hand,  with  her  eyes 
fastened  upon  her  companions. 

"  Take  care,  Becky ;  you'll  rub  it  off.  It's 
very  tender,  and  there's  but  little  of  it,"  said 
Harry,  with  a  laugh.  "  Woolen  mill,  indeed ! 
You  can't  get  up  a  blaze  there  ;  it's  brick." 

"  Don't  think  of  such  a  thing,  child.  There's 
no  necessity  for  your  earning  money,"  said  Mrs. 
Thompson. 

"  Necessity  or  not,  I  mean  to  try.  To-morrow 
morning  I  shall  go  there,  and  ask  for  work," 
replied  Becky ;  "  so  don't  try  to  stop  me,  for  I 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  181 

know  its   right  for  me  to  do    all   I    an   for   the 
support  of  the  family." 

"  Earn  money  in  the  woolen  mill !  Nonsense  ! 
Why,  there's  talent  enough  in  this  portfolio  to 
give  you  a  handsome  living,  independent  of  the 
dust  and  dirt  of  an  ugly,  noisy  mill." 

"In  that  portfolio?"  said  Becky.  "What  do 
you  mean,  Harry?" 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know,  Becky,  that  men 
have  made  fortunes  by  their  skill  with  the  pen 
cil  and  brush?  " 

"  Men !    Men  can  do  anything  ;  but  girls  can't*" 

"  Don't  be  so  sure  of  that  Becky.  I  know  a 
young  lady  who  earns  twice  as  much  as  you 
ever  did  in  the  paper  mill,  by  the  use  of  a 
pencil." 

"  You  know  a  young  lady?  "  said  Becky,  with 
a  flush.  "  Who  —  where  ?  What's  her  name  ?  " 

Harry  laughed. 

"  Ah,  now  you're  getting  inquisitive,  Miss 
Becky." 

"  I  know  who  it  is,  Becky,"  said  Mrs.  Thomp 
son.  "  He's  told  me  all  about  it,  and  I'll  tell 
you." 

"  Mother,  mother,"  said  Harry,  with  much 
sternness,  "  secrets  are  sacred.  You  must  not 
tell." 


182  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

Becky  began  to  feel  decidedly  uncomfortable. 
Here  was  a  young  lady  she  had  never  heard  of. 
There  was  a  secret,  and  it  must  not  be  told.  O, 
dear !  somebody  was  coming  between  Harry  and 
herself.  She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand  ; 
her  face  was  burning. 

"  What  a  silly  goose!"  she  thought,  and  fell 
to  rubbing  her  nose  again,  which  now  indicated 
a  very  high  degree  of  temperature. 

"  No  matter,  Becky, "  said  Harry,  noticing 
her  confusion  ;  "I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it, 
and  let  you  into  the  secret.  When  I  was  at 
Cambridge,  I  boarded  with  a  widow  who  had 
one  daughter.  She  was  about  your  age,  and 
her  name  was  Alice.  Nice  name  —  isn't  it!" 

"I  don't  know.  Yes  —  yes,"  said  Becky ;  "of 
course.  Didn't  she  have  any  other  name  ?  " 

"Certainly  —  Alice  Parks.  But  Alice  is  such 
a  pretty  name,  it's  a  pity  it  didn't  stand  alone, 
and  have  no  parks  about  it.  Alice  —  Alice.  I 
do  like  that  name  ! " 

"Why,  Harry,  what  are  you  thinking  of?" 
asked  Mrs.  Thompson,  in  surprise. 

"  Thinking  of  Alice,  of  course,"  said  Becky, 
with  a  little  snap  of  temper.  "  I  don't  see 
what  that's  got  to  do  with  a  pencil." 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  183 

"  Then  we'll  come  to  the  point  —  of  the  story, 
not  the  pencil,"  said  Harry,  who  was  evidently 
enjoying  the  confusion  of  Becky.  "  Well,  you 
must  know,  I  took  a  great  fancy  to  this  girl, 
she  was  so  pretty,  and  so  gentle  and  obliging. 
They  were  poor  people,  and  found  it  hard 
to  keep  up  a  respectable  appearance,  and 
make  their  home  comfortable,  and  table  inviting. 
But  they  did  it;  and  it  was  just  the  nicest, 
cosiest  place  in  all  the  world,  except  home." 
Harry'  sobered  here,  and  looked  at  his  mother. 
"  Well,  Alice  had  a  talent  for  painting  and 
drawing,  and  amused  herself  in  her  leisure 
moments  with  making  sketches  and  water  colors, 
with  which  to  adorn  their  rooms.  I  was  very 
grateful  to  them  for  their  kindness  to  me ;  and 
one  day  I  purloined  some  of  Alice's  drawings, 
and  took  them  into  Boston.  I  had  often  played 
cricket  with  an  Englishman,  —  John  Woodfern, 
—  who,  I  knew,  was  one  of  the  best  engravers 
in  America.  I  took  the  sketches  to  him,  told 
my  story,  and  asked  him  to  do  something  for 
the  girl.  He  took  a  fancy  to  the  drawings  at 
once.  He  had  a  fancy  for  me  already ;  and, 
fortunately,  he  had  just  taken  a  contract  to  sup 
ply  a  children's  magazine,  then  in  successful 


184  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

operation.  He  sent  for  Alice,  took  a  fancy  to 
her,  too,  and  at  once  set  her  to  work.  She  is 
now  a  successful  artist.  So  you  see,  Becky, 
what  a  young  girl  can  do,  when  she  has  a  smart, 
enterprising  man  to  help  her.  Ahem  ! " 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  do  that  too  ?  "  asked 
Becky,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Of  course  you  could.  John  Woodfern  could 
never  refuse  such  convincing  proofs  as  are  packed 
away  in  this  portfolio." 

"  O,  isn't  that  splendid !  I  know  I  should 
like  that  work,"  cried  Becky,  jumping  up  and 
clapping  her  hands.  "  I'll  go  to  Boston  at 
once  !  " 

"  Hold  on,  hold  on,  aspiring  genius  ! "  exclaimed 
Harry.  "You  go  to  Boston  —  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles !  Nonsense  !  You  will  stay  at 
home,  and  go  to  school ;  and  when  the  term  is 
over,  we'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

"But  I  can't  wait.  I  must  have  work.  O, 
let  me  go.  I  can  find  the  way,  and  Mr.  John 
Woodfern,  too." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  won't  aid  you  unless  you  strictly 
conform  to  my  wishes.  Am  I  not  right, 
mother?" 

"Yes,  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson;  "  it's  best 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  185 

that  Becky  give  her  attention  to  home  and 
school  this  winter.  Be  patient,  Becky.  Harry 
has  opened  an  agreeable  field  of  labor  to  you, 
where  you  shall  work  in  good  time." 

"  Yes,  Becky,  I've  discovered  the  mine  where 
lie  concealed  treasures  of  wealth,  which  you 
shall  pick  with  the  point  of  a  pencil.  Only 
wait  until  I  give  you  the  word." 

Discovered  a  mine  ?  Ah,  Master  Harry,  you've 
reared  a  mine  of  another  sort,  and  laid  a  train, 
and  put  the  match  into  the  hands  of  a  quick 
witted  girl.  Look  out  for  a  speedy  explosion. 

This  new  idea  so  bewitched  Becky,  that  the 
haunting  figures  ten  were  quickly  rubbed  out 
of  existence  in  her  day-dreams,  to  give  place  to 
the  Utopian  vision  of  fame  and  fortune,  which 
Harry  had  conjured  for  her  especial  benefit. 
Mother  and  son  departed.  The  girl  sat  and 
gazed  into  the  fire,  with  mingled  feelings  of  hope 
and  disappointment.  There  was  a  bright  pros 
pect  in  the  future  for  her.  Harry  had  said  she 
had  the  talent ;  her  own  heart  told  her  she  had 
the  power  to  accomplish  this  new  undertaking. 
But  he  had  put  the  attempt  a  long  way  off,  and 
bade  her  be  patient.  Patience,  indeed!  Wait 
until  the  end  of  the  term  —  six  months.  In  that 


186  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

time  what  an  immense  sum  could  be  added  to  her 
store !  No  ;  she  would  act  at  once.  Patience, 
as  yet,  was  no  prominent  quality  in  her  volatile 
disposition ;  and  now,  when  so  easy  a  victory 
over  the  crushing  despot,  dependence  she  so 
loathed  was  at  her  will,  she  could  not  heed  it's 
voice.  She  would  act  at  once.  And  then  the 
thought  of  the  dear  friends  she  must  disappoint 
by  her  disobedience  checked  her.  But  again  the 
ambitious  fever  raged,  and  into  her  musings  crept 
Miss  Alice  Parks ;  Alice,  of  whom  Harry  was 
so  fond !  She  would  go.  She  would  see  this  para 
gon,  and  know  why  he  raved  so  about  her. 
And  so,  two  desires  mingled  in  her  meditations, 
the  one  born  of  a  healthy  ambition  to  achieve 
independence,  the  other  springing  from  a  jealous 
affection,  too  mischievous  to  be  the  happy  ten 
ant  of  a  young  girl's  heart. 

For  three  days  duty  and  inclination  struggled 
with  Becky  for  the  mastery.  In  the  afternoon 
of  the  fourth  day  she  took  from  her  box  the 
carefully  hoarded  sum  she  had  earned  at  the 
paper  mill,  and  set  out  for  school. 

That  afternoon  Captain  Thompson,  as  was  his 
usual  custom,  was  seated  at  his  desk  in  the  cor 
ner  of  the  sitting-room,  making  up  his  accounts 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  187 

for  the  day.  He  was  alone ;  his  good  wife,  as 
was  her  usual  afternoon  custom,  was  at  Mrs. 

V 

Sleeper's  —  a  proceeding  of  which  the  peppery 
captain  took  not  the  least  apparent  notice.  But 
he  knew  all  that  had  happened  during  the  year  ; 
knew  what  was  happening  now  —  the  daily  meet 
ings  of  his  wife  and  son ;  the  reformation  of 
Becky ;  his  son's  brave  deed  in  the  dam ;  the 
girl's  heroism  at  the  burning  mill.  But  he  never 
made  any  comments,  and  to  all  seemed  an  unin 
terested  man,  wrapped  in  ship-building  and  mone 
tary  speculations. 

But  one  single  thread  connected  him  with 
any  interest  in  the  Sleeper  affairs.  He  and  Teddy 
Sleeper  had  become  warm  friends.  Teddy  had 
wandered  into  the  ship-yard  one  day,  had  watched 
the  ship  upon  the  stocks,  and  the  men  at  work, 
and,  desiring  some  information,  had  coolly  walked 
up  to  Captain  Thompson,  and  asked  a  question. 
The  captain  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  then  kindly 
answered  him,  found  he  was  interested  in  the 
ship,  and,  to  the  astonishment  of  everybody,  sat 
down,  and  told  him  all  about  it.  From  that 
time  Teddy's  out-door  life  was  passed  in  the 
ship-yard.  After  school  found  him  there,  and 
the  captain  expecting  him.  They  drove  about 


188  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

town  together ;  and  people  said  the  boy  had  got 
the  right  side  of  the  captain,  and  his  fortune 
would  be  made. 

But  not  a  word  of  home  dropped  from  Teddy's 
lips.  The  captain  never  asked  questions  in  that 
direction  ;  and  Teddy  was  too  shrewd  to  peril 
their  friendship  by  treading  on  forbidden  ground. 
This  day  Teddy  had  not  put  in  an  appearance, 
and  for  that  or  some  other  reason  the  captain 
was  in  his  unhappiest  mood.  He  blotted  his 
ledger,  spilled  his  ink,  hitched  about  in  his  chair, 
and  puffed  and  worried,  until  he  worked  him 
self  into  a  steaming  mood,  that  required  frequent 
applications  of  his  handkerchief.  In  his  highest 
state  of  excitement  came  a  knock  at  the  front 
door. 

"  Here,  you,  Silly,  you  silly  thing !  where  are 
you?"  he  shouted.  "  See  who's  at  the  door." 

There  was  a  "  clap-clap-clap "  in  the  next 
room,  and  Silly  York  made  her  appearance. 

"Do  you  want  me,  captain?" 

"No,  I  don't  want  you.  Somebody's  at  the 
door.  If  they  want  you,  they're  welcome  to  you." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  to  the  door?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  What  else  are  you  here 
for?  Start  yourself,  quick!" 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  189 

Silly  stepped  across  the  room,  and  opened  a 
door,  and  passed  into  the  front  entry. 

"Here,  you!  mind!  I'm  busy,  and  don't  want 
to  see  anybody.  Shut  that  door!" 

Silly  slammed  the  door  after  her.  Then  the 
captain  heard  a  scream,  and  Silly's  voice. 

"  O,  you  dear  little  thing  !  I  must  hug  you  I 
Come  right  in." 

The  door  flew  open. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  I  wouldn't  see  anybody?" 
shouted  the  captain. 

"  You  don't,  know  who  it  is.  You  wouldn't 
shut  her  out  —  would  you?  She  saved  my 
sister  ! " 

"  Hang  your  sister  !  She  — "  And  then  he 
stopped,  for  in  the  room  stood  Silly,  and  the 
last  one  he  ever  expected  to  meet  in  his  house  — 
Becky  Sleeper. 

The  captain  looked  at  her  in  astonisnment. 
He  knew  her  well.  They  had  never  spoken  to 
each  other  since  that  first  day  at  school — but, 
he  had  watched  her  since  then  —  was  well  in 
formed  as  to  her  progress.  And  yet,  the  bright, 
young,  well-dressed,  graceful  girl,  with  a  smile 
on  her  face,  standing  before  him,  took  him  by 
surprise,  and  made  a  gentle  man  of  him  at  once. 


190  RUNNING  TO    WASTE. 

"  I  hope  I  do  not  interrupt  you,  Captain 
Thompson,"  said  Becky,  very  gently;  "but  I 
have  a  little  business  with  you ;  and  if  you 
would  kindly  give  me  five  minutes,  I  should  be 
very  much  obliged." 

The  captain  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  made 
a  low  bow.  It  surprised  him  as  soon  as  it  was 
done  ;  but  he  couldn't  help  it. 

44  Certainly,  Miss  Becky,  if  I  can  be  of  service 
to  you,  —  Silly,  you  needn't  stop," 

"  But  I  want  to,"  said  Silly.  "  She  saved  my 
sister." 

Becky  laughed. 

44  I'll  come  out  and  see  you  before  I  go,"  she 
said.  44  You're  not  afraid  to  trust  me  alone  with 
the  captain  —  are  you  ?  " 

Silly  looked  at  the  captain  and  then  at  Becky, 
evidently  believing  that  it  was  her  duty  to  stay 
and  protect  Becky. 

44  Here  ;  you  start  your  boots  —  quick !  " 

The  captain  mounted  his  high  horse,  and  Silly 
started  for  the  kitchen  in  a  hurry. 

44  Now,  Miss  Becky,  what  have  you   to  say?" 

The  captain  sat  at  his  desk,  and  motioned 
Becky  to  a  chair.  She  did  not  obey  his  motion, 
but  came  to  his  side. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  Captain  Thompson,  I've  been  wanting  to 
come  to  you,  to  thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to 
to  us  all,  for  helping  —  no,  not  helping,  for  you 
have  done  everything.  You  have  given. us  food 
and  clothing ;  and  without  your  aid  I  don't  know 
what  would  have  become  of  us." 

"O,  pshaw!"  said  the  captain.  "  Is  that  all 
you  came  for?" 

"No.  I  came  to  beg  your  pardon  for  being 
so  much  trouble  to  you  when  I  Avas  a  wild  tom 
boy.  I  was  young  then ;  didn't  know  how 
wrong  it  was.  I'm  older  now,  and  see  my 
error." 

The  captain  looked  at  her  with  increasing 
wonder.  Could  this  be  the  tomboy  who  had 
snatched  his  whip  from  his  hand,  stolen  his 
horse,  and  given  him  such  a  chase  —  this  little 
woman,  with  her  sweet  voice  and  penitent  air? 
Or  was  this  some  new  trick? 

"Well,"  said  he  at  last,  gruffly;  "is  that  all 
you  came  for?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Becky.  "  When  I  found  that 
we  were  indebted  to  you  for  food  and  clothing, 
when  I  began  to  be  a  better  girl,  I  felt  it  was 
mean  to  let  you  do  everything,  and  I,  strong 
and  active,  doing  nothing  ;  so  I  went  to  work 


192  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

in    the    paper    mill.      You    know    how    it    was 
destroyed." 

"  Yes  ;  and  how  a  brave  girl,  at  the  risk  of 
her  own  life,  saved  a  weak  and  helpless  com 
panion,"  burst  out  the  captain.  "  O,  I  know 
it!" 

uYes,"  said  Becky,  with  heightened  color, 
"  the  mill  was  burned.  I -had  saved  ninety  dol 
lars.  O,  I  did  so  want  to  make  it  a  hundred ! 
But  I  couldn't.  I  meant  to  bring  it  to  you,  to 
pay  you  in  part  for  what  you  had  done  for  me 
and  mine.  But  I've  brought  you  the  ninety." 
And  Becky  suddenly  laid  upon  the  desk  before 
the  eyes  of  the  astonished  captain  her  savings. 

The  captain  started,  then  stared  at  the  little 
pile  of  money  very  hard,  then  harder  still  at 
Becky,  and  back  at  the  money  again,  until  tears 
began  to  drop  from  his  eyes,  when,  without  any 
further  ceremony,  he  pulled  out  his  handker 
chief,  and  blubbered  like  a  big  school-boy.  It 
was  now  Becky's  turn  to  be  surprised. 

"  O,  captain,  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feel 
ings.  I  only  wanted  to  repay  you  just  a  little 
for  your  kindness.  I  didn't  mean  any  harm  — 
indeed  I  didn't." 

"  Becky  Sleeper,  you're  a  little  angel,  and  I'm 


RUNNING   TO   WASTE.  193 

an  ugly  old  brute.  Pick  up  your  money.  I 
don't  want  it.  To  think  that  I've  been  abus 
ing  you  all  this  time,  and  you  coming  in  this 
way  to  pour  coals  of  fire  on  my  head.  I'm  an 
old  fool !  Take  your  money  —  quick ! " 

"  No,  captain,  don't  ask  me  to  do  that.  If 
you  knew  what  a  temptation  that  money  has 
been  to  me,  you  would  never  ask  me  —  never." 

"Temptation!     What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  captain,  a  secret.  You  must 
not  tell,  not  even  Aunt  Rebecca.  You  won't  — 
will  you?"  Becky  smiled  at  the  captain.  "  Honor 
bright." 

The  captain  smiled  at  Becky.  It  was  a  good- 
humored  smile.  They  were  getting  on  famously. 

"  I'll  keep  your  secret,  Becky,  when  I  get  it." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  know  that  I've  just 
learned  of  a  very  nice  way  to  make  money,  one 
I  should  like  very  much.  To  get  it  in  this  nice 
way,  it  is  necessary  to  make  a  journey  to  Bos 
ton,  to  see  a  certain  man,  and  he  would  give 
me  drawing,  for  engravings.  Aunt  Rebecca  — 
no,  Harry  —  told  me  of  it;  your  Harry." 

The  captain  did  not  stop  her  at  the  mention 
of  that  name,  a  name  forbidden  to  be  spoken  in 
that  house.  There  was  a  little  more  color  in 
his  face;  but  he  looked  steadily  at  her. 


194  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  I  had  the  money  to  take  me  there,  and  I 
was  tempted  to  use  it;  tempted,  O,  so  hard! 
till  at  last  I  remembered  it  was  your  money : 
and,  to  put  the  temptation  from  me,  I  brought 
it  to  you.  I  didn't  want  to  until  I  had  the 
hundred.  Now  I'm  glad  I  did.  Had  I  gone, 
I  should  have  disobeyed  Aunt  Rebecca,  and  — 
Harry. 

"  Why  disobeyed  Aunt  Rebecca  ?  "  said  the 
captain,  quietly  dropping  the  other  party. 

"Because  they"  said  Becky,  not  relishing  the 
dropping  game,  "forbade  my  going  until  the 
expiration  of  the  school  term." 

"How  ?  She  forbid  you  !  It's  a  good  idea  ; 
a  nice  way  of  earning  money ;  and  you  want  to 
go  still  ?  " 

"  O,  indeed  I  do,  if  only  it  was  right." 

"Right?  Of  course  it's  right,"  said  the  cap 
tain,  roused  at  a  chance  for  opposition.  "  She's 
no  right  to  prevent  you,  and  I  should  like  to 
see  her  do  it.  You  want  to  go  to  Boston.  You 
shall  go." 

Becky  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  O,  if  could  only  go  !  I  know  I  could  suc 
ceed.  But  what  would  Aunt  Rebecca  and  — 

"  Hang    Aunt    Rebecca  ! "    shouted    the    cap- 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  1Q5 

tain,  cutting  in  to  prevent  the  addition  of  the 
other  name.  "  I've  just  as  much  right  to  direct 
your  actions  as  she  has.  I'm  going  to  Boston 
to-morrow  morning.  You  shall  go  with  me." 

Before  the  appearance  of  Becky,  the  captain 
had  no  intention  of  taking  a  journey. 

"  O,  that  will  be  splendid  —  if  I  only  could." 

"  You  can,  and  shall.  Go  home,  get  ready, 
and  to-morrow  morning  at  five  o'clock  meet  me 
at  the  school-house.  Phil  shall  drive  us  over  to 
Foxtown.  We'll  take  the  cars  there,  and  be  in 
Boston  at  one.  Here,  take  your  money ; "  and 
the  captain  swept  it  from-  the  desk,  and  put  it 
in  her  hand.  "When  I  want  it,  I'll' ask  for  it." 

"  But  how  can  I  ever  pay  you  ?  " 

"  By  shaking  hands,  and  being  friends  with 
the  old  man.  You  may  add  a  kiss  if  you  like." 

"  A  dozen  !  "  cried  Becky,  throwing  her  arms 
about  the  captain's  neck.  "You  dear,  good, 
kind,  noble  old  captain !  " 

"  Now,  good  by,  little  one.  Be  sure  and  be 
on  time  to-morrow  morning  at  five." 

"When  the  clock  strikes,  you'll  find  me  there. 
Good  by." 

Becky  ran  home  with  a  happy  heart,  bounced 
into  the  sitting  room,  and  told  them  all  about 


196  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

it  —  Mrs.  Thompson  and  Harry ;  then  ran  to  her 
mother's  room,  and  told  her ;  then  to  the  kitchen, 
and  told  Aunt  Hulda.  And  such  a  surprised 
household  it  would  be  hard  to  find. 

Harry  Thompson  frowned,  and  was  inclined  to 
put  a  stop  to  the  journey  ;  but  his  mother  looked 
happy. 

"  Our  little  witch  has  caught  the  captain. 
Do  not  interfere,  for  out  of  this  friendship  I  fore 
see  a  happy  day  for  you  and  me.  '  Let  patience 
have  her  perfect  work. ' 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  197 


CHAPTER    XII. 

AMONG   THE    WOODPECKERS 


years  ago,  in  one  of  the  busiest 
streets  in  bustling  Boston,  up  three 
flights  of  stairs,  sufficiently  distant  from 
the  tumult  of  trade  to  escape  its  confusion,  and 
near  enough  to  the  sun  to  receive  the  full  benefit 
of  its  light,  "  John  Woodfern,  Designer  and 
Engraver,"  plied  his  artistic  trade,  in  the  enjoy 
ment  of  a  large  share  of  public  patronage.  He 
was  a  man  who  held  the  foremost  place  in  his 
profession,  renowned  for  his  skill  in  fastening 
the  fine  points  and  delicate  shades  of  a  draw 
ing  upon  wooden  blocks,  whence  are  produced 
those  pictorial  illustrations  which  often  adorn, 
and  sometimes  disfigure,  books,  periodicals,  and 
papers.  He  was  also  a  man  of  good  business 
habits,  and  his  establishment  was  neatly  arranged, 
and  conducted  in  the  most  orderly  manner. 
An  Englishman  by  birth,  he  brought  to  this 


198  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

country,  besides  a  clear  head  and  skilful  hands, 
a  love  for  the  roast-beef  and  ale  of  Old  Eng 
land,  a  warm  heart,  and  a  jovial  temper,  the 
latter  somewhat  obscured  by  the  characteristic 
fogs  of  gruffness  and  blunt  speech,  without  which 
no  Briton  would  be  content  to  leave  his  native 
land.  He  was  a  large,  handsome  man  of  fifty, 
with  light,  curly  hair,  surrounding  a  polished 
pate,  in  whose  centre  flourished  a  single  tuft  of 
hair ;  blue  eyes,  and  a  long,  flowing  beard. 

His  establishment  was  divided  into  two  sec 
tions —  his  own  office  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
and  his  work-room,  from  wTiich  he  was  only 
separated  by  a  partition,  and  which  he  could 
overlook,  through  the  door,  from  his  seat. 

The  office  contained  a  handsome  book-case,  a 
desk,  and  his  own  work-table,  where  he  did  the 
finest  work.  Its  walls  were  adorned  with  fine 
pictures  and  specimens  of  his  work.  Over  the 
desk  was  displayed,  on  brackets,  a  polished 
champion  cricket  bat,  ornamented  with  a  silver 
plate,  on  which  glistened  his  name  and  the 
match  in  which  it  was  won.  On  his  table  were 
the  usual  implements  of  his  craft  —  a  small  stand 
with  a  padded  leather  cushion,  a  frame  in  which 
was  fitted  an  eye-glass,  a  fine  assortment  of  "grav- 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  199 

ers,"  and   blocks   of  wood   in   various   stages  of 
completion. 

The  work-room  contained  three  tables,  at  which 
were  seated  three  young  men,  with  their  eyes 
screwed  down  to  eye-glasses,  diligently  pecking  at 
drawings  on  wooden  blocks.  These  young  men, 
"  woodpeckers "  by  trade,  were  Woodferns  by 
name,  being  sons  of  the  proprietor,  and,  like 
their  father,  all  good  fellows  and  skilful  work 
men..  This  room  was  plainly  furnished  with 
•three  tables  and  a  transfer  press,  and  above 
them  a  long  shelf,  on  which  were  ranged  a  row 
of  glass  globes,  filled  with  water,  used  to  con 
centrate  the  light  in  night  work. 

Mr.  Woodfern  sat  at  his  table,  busily  at  work 
putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a  block,  when 
unattended  and  unannounced,  Miss  Becky  Sleeper 
marched  into  his  presence. 

Mr.  Woodfern  lifted  his  eye  from  the  glass, 
and  politely  turned  in  his  chair,  with  a  nod  to 
the  visitor.  The  young  Woodferns  unscrewed  their 
eyes  from  the  wooden  sockets  in  which  they 
were  imbedded,  and  very  impolitely  stared  at 
the  intruder. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Becky,  in  her 
sweetest  tones.  "  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
look  at  these  drawings?" 


200  t    RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

Mr.  Woodfern  scowled.  He  had  been  pestered 
by  an  army  of  aspiring  draughtsmen,  of  both 
sexes ;  and  the  London  fog  was  on  him.  He 
answered  shortly, — 

"  No,  I  don't  want  any  drawings.  Good 
morning,"  turned  in  his  chair  and  applied  his 
eye  to  its  artificial  socket. 

A  wave  of  confusion  rolled  over  Becky's  con 
fident  spirit.  The  gruff  voice  and  the  abrupt 
dismissal  had  not  entered  into  her  calculations. 
But  she  was  not  disposed  to  quit  the  field  with 
out  a  struggle,  after  so  long  a  journey ;  so, 
gulping  down  her  chagrin,  she  said, — 

"  But  you  don't  understand.  I've  come  a  long 
way  to  get  work.  My  friends  tell  me  I  am 
competent,  and  I  have  specimens  of  drawing. 
You'll  surely  look  at  them." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Mr. 
Woodfern,  gruffly,  not  deigning  to  raise  his 
eye.  "  I  have  all  the  draughtsmen  I  want ;  and 
I  never  employ  girls." 

"  Why,  you  give  Miss  Alice  Parks  work  — 
don't  you?" 

Caught.  Mr.  John  Woodfern,  how  will  you 
answer  that  question? 

"  I  have  given  her  work ;  and  a  precious  sight 
of  trouble  she  has  made  me." 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  201 

There  was  some  comfort  in  that  to  Miss 
Becky's  jealous  heart.  Miss  Alice  was  not  quite 
a  paragon,  after  all. 

"  Once  for  all,  I  don't  want  your  drawings. 
I've  no  time  to  look  at  them.  Good  morning." 

The  tone  was  so  chilling  that  a  returning 
"  good  morning  "  trembled  on  Becky's  lips.  The 
tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  It  seemed  to  her  for 
a  moment  that  all  was  lost.  But,  remembering 
the  friends  she  must  meet  with  the  story  of  her 
defeat,  remembering  the  captain  patiently  wait 
ing  in  the  street  for  her  return,  she  yet  lingered, 
hoping  that  a  little  reflection  might  produce  a 
change  in  the  temper  of  this  gruff  proprietor, 
and  gain  her  a  hearing.  Profound  silence ;  eyes 
glued  to  their  sockets ;  not  even  the  tools  of 
the  workmen  broke  the  stillness,  for  these  wood 
peckers  tapped  no  hollow  oak  tree,  but  pecked 
at  solid  boxwood,  which  emits  no  sound.  Her 
eyes  roved  about  the  room  until  they  fastened 
on  the  cricket-bat  above  the  desk.  They  glistened 
at  the  sight. 

"  O,  what  a  splendid  cricket-bat !  "  she   cried. 

"  Is  that  yours,  sir  ?     Did  you  win  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Woodfern  raised  his  head,  with  a  faint 
show  of  interest. 


202  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

"  Yes,  I  won  it.  What  do  you  know  about 
cricket  ?  " 

44 1  know  it's  just  the  most  splendid  game  I 
ever  played,"  replied  Becky,  with  enthusiasm. 

44  You  play  cricket !  "  said  Mr.  Woodfern,  in 
surprise. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  but  it  was  long  ago.  I  was  a 
famous  hand  at  it,  too,  though  I  do  say  it. 
Please,  sir,  let  me  take  it  down.  I  won't 
hurt  it." 

44  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Woodfern,  rising  from 
his  chair.  44  Handle  it  as  much  as  you  like." 

He  took  it  from  its  place,  put  it  in  Becky's 
hands,  and  resumed  his  seat,  watching  the  girl 
with  a  lively  interest,  for  cricket  was  a  passion 
with  him  age  could  not  smother.  Becky  took 
the  bat  and  handled  it  like  a  true  cricketer, 
placing  herself  in  graceful  positions,  to  display 
her  knowledge  of  its  use. 

44  Now,  if  we  only  had  a  ball !  " 

44  If  we  had !  We  have,"  said  Mr.  Woodfern, 
opening  a  drawer  in  his  table,  and  producing  a 
cricket  ball.  44Now,  what  next?" 

44  Bowl  me  a  ball,  and  you  shall  see,"  replied 
Becky,  placing  herself  before  an  imaginary 
wicket. 


PUNNING  TO  WASTE.  203 

The  sight  of  a  cricketer  in  position  was 
enough  to  excite  the  enthusiastic  sportsman; 
and  when  Becky  shouted,  "  Play ! "  without*  a 
moment's  thought  he  bowled  a  swift  ball.  Becky 
struck  quick  and  hard ;  it  flew  across  the  room, 
into  the  work-shop,  and  struck  a  glass  globe. 
There  was  a  crash,  and  the  imprisoned  water 
poured  on  to  the  head  of  the  youngest  wood 
pecker  in  a  miniature  deluge.  He  sprang  up, 
shouting,  "  Help,  help  ! " 

"Gracious!  what  have  I  done?"  faltered  the 
terrified  Becky. 

Mr.  Woodfern  colored  to  the  tuft  of  the  oasis 
in  the  bald  desert  on  his  head,  but  quietly  rose, 
shut  the  door  between  the  two  rooms,  and 
resumed  his  seat. 

"  It's  of  no  consequence.  Let  me  see  your 
drawings." 

So  out  of  the  old  life  a  second  time  had  come 
her  deliverance  in  time  of  trouble.  Not  alto 
gether  wasted,  after  all. 

Mr.  John  Woodfern  took  the  proffered  port 
folio  and  placed  it  in  his  lap.  As  he  did  so  his 
eyes  met  Becky's,  and  the  comical  situation  in 
which  he  had  been  placed  overpowered  him. 
He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  burst 


204  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

into  a  prolonged,  loud  and  hearty  peal  of  laugh 
ter.  Having  thus  effectually  dissipated  the  fog 
he  opened  the  portfolio,  and  examined  its  con 
tents. 

"So,  so;  this  is  your  work  —  is  it?  Very 
good,  fine,  excellent!  You  had  a  good  teacher, 
that's  evident;  but  you  have  talent,  that's  still 
more  evident.  Who  is  your  teacher?" 

"  Harry  Thompson,  sir,"  replied  Becky. 

'•Harry  Thompson  of  Harvard?"  queried  Mr. 
Woodfern. 

"  He  was  at  Harvard,  sir.  He's  now  at  Clev 
erly —  Cleverly,  Maine;  that's  where  I  live," 
said  Becky. 

"  Indeed !  It's  my  old  friend.  He's  your 
teacher  at  cricket,  too,  I'll  be  bound.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  this  before?" 

"  If  you'll  be  kind  enough  to  remember,  sir, 
you  were  very  busy  when  I  came  in.  You 
didn't  give  me  a  chance  to  tell  you  anything," 
said  Becky,  taking  a  mischievous  pleasure  in 
reminding  the  engraver  of  his  brusque  behavior. 

"  Hem,  hem  ;  that's  so.  I  was  busy,  ,  very 
busy,  Miss —  Miss —  what's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Rebecca  Sleeper,  sir.     Harry  calls  me  Becky." 

"  Well,    Miss    Becky,    I   like   your   drawings ; 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  205 

but  the  fact  is  you've  had  no  experience  in 
drawing  on  wood." 

"  But  I  could  learn,  sir,"  said  Becky,  quickly. 
"  If  you  only  knew  how  much  need  I  have  of 
money,  you  would  give  me  a  chance  —  I  know 
you  would." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a  young 
lady  made  her  appearance.  She  was  taller  than 
Becky,  but  young  and  graceful,  with  a  bright, 
handsome  face,  lustrous  black  eyes,  and  a  pro 
fusion  of  dark  ringlets. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Parks,"  said  Mr.  Wood- 
fern,  courteously. 

Becky  started,  and  stared  at  the  visitor  — 
Harry's  paragon.  It  must  be ;  it  could  be  no 
other. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Woodfern,"  said  Miss 
Parks,  gayly.  "  It's  the  day  after  the  fair,  I 
know ;  but  you  will  forgive  me.  I  couldn't 
finish  them  in  time." 

The  young  lady  unfastened  her  reticule,  and 
produced  three  blocks,  which  she  laid  before 
the  engraver. 

44  Forgive  you?"  said  Mr.  Woodfern.  "I 
don't  know  about  that.  Five  minutes  more,  and 
you  would  have  been  superceded  by  this  young 
artist ; "  and  he  pointed  to  Becky. 


206  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

Miss  Parks  looked  at  Becky,  and  Becky  looked 
at  Miss  Parks. 

"  Miss  Parks,"  said  Mr.  Woodfern,  "  this  is 
Miss  Rebecca  Sleeper,  of  Cleverly.'' 

A  flush  of  surprise  overspread  the  features  of 
Miss  Parks. 

"  Miss  Rebecca  Sleeper  of  Cleverly !  Why,  it 
must  be  Harry's  Becky.  You  dear  little  thing ! 
how  glad  I  am  to  meet  you !  "  and  she  advanced 
with  outstretched  hands  to  Becky. 

Becky  met  her  advances  with  cordiality,  though 
the  appellation  of  "  dear  little  thing "  from  a 
stranger  somewhat  surprised  her. 

"  Harry  has  told  me  all  about  you.  His  let 
ters  are  full  of  praises  of  you ;  and  I  know  all 
about  the  adventure  in  the  mill-dam,  arid  the 
burning  of  the  mill.  We  must  be  good  friends." 

So  Harry  wrote  to  her.  She  must  be  a  very, 
very  dear  friend,  then;  too  dear  for  her  peace 
of  mind.  The  old  jealous  feeling  crept  into 
Becky's  heart,  so  heavy  that  she  could  scarcely 
hold  back  her  tears ;  but  she  did,  and  answered 
nervously,  — 

"  Yes ;  and  I've  heard  a  great  deal  about  Miss 
Alice  Parks.  I'm  glad  I  met  you.  It  will 
please  Harry  to  know  that  I  met  his  dear 
friend." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  207 

Becky  didn't  mean  to  emphasize  the  "  dear " 
so  strongly ;  but  she  noticed  it  brought  a  flush 
to  the  face  of  Alice  Parks.  It  was  rather  con 
fusing,  and  the  two  young  ladies  stood  looking 
at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  Miss  Sleeper  wants  work.  She  has  brought 
me  these  sketches.  Take  a  look  at  them,"  said 
Mr.  Woodfern,  handing  the  portfolio  to  Miss 
Parks. 

The  young  lady  took  it,  and,  seating  herself 
at  the  desk,  immediately  became  interested  in 
the  drawings.  Just  then  the  door  of  the  work 
room  opened,  and  Mr.  George  Woodfern  entered 
the  office.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome  fellow,  the 
image  of  his  father.  On  his  entrance,  Miss 
Alice  Parks  raised  her  head  quickly. 

"  Good  morning,  George,"  she  said,  "  come 
and  look  at  these  drawings,  and  confess  J've 
found  a  rival  at  last." 

George  Woodfern  crossed  the  office,  with  a 
quick  step  and  a  blushing  face,  and  joined  Miss 
Alice.  The  two  put  their  heads  together  over 
the  drawings,  with  such  evident  pleasure  in 
each  other's  society,  that  had  Alice  not  been 
such  a  dear  friend  of  Harry's,  Becky  would 
have  made  a  match  on  the  spot.  Their  confer- 


208  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

ence  was  long  and  earnest ;  and  from  their  con 
versation  Becky  was  convinced  that  they  were 
pleased  with  her  drawings.  In  the  meantime 
Mr.  Woodfern  made  himself  agreeable  to  Becky, 
showed  her  how  drawings  were  reversed  on 
wood,  and  gave  her  many  hints  regarding  "  shad 
ing,"  "  filling  in,"  and  the  nice  points  of  wood 
engravings.  The  young  couple  at  the  desk  at 
last  finished  their  examination. 

"Well,  Miss  Alice,  what  is  the  verdict?" 
asked  Mr.  Woodfern. 

"  Employ  the  young  lady,  by  all  means ;  though 
I  fear  '  Othello's  occupation's  gone,'  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned.  She  can  draw  ever  so  much  bet 
ter  than  poor  I." 

Becky  blushed  with  pleasure.  So  Harry's 
friend  was  her  friend  too.  Mr.  Woodfern  took 
from  his  drawer  the  manuscript  of  two  short 
stories  and  a  poem.  He  then  selected  three 
blocks  of  boxwood  from  a  row  on  his  table,  and 
placed  the  whole  in  Becky's  hands. 

"  Miss  Sleeper,"  he  said,  "  on  the  recommend 
ation  of  this  talented  young  lady,  I  shall  give 
you  a  trial.  There  are  two  stories  for  children, 
and  a  short  4  baby '  poem.  The  points  to  be 
illustrated  are  all  marked.  Take  them,  consult 


RUNNING  TO    WASTE.  209 

your  friend  Harry  Thompson,  and  if  you  send  me 
three  satisfactory  drawings  within  a  fortnight,  I 
will  send  you  my  check  for  fifteen  dollars.  If 
not  satisfactory,  I  pay  nothing." 

Becky's  heart  thrilled.  How  kind,  how  good 
of  Mr.  Woodfern !  She  thanked  him  warmly 
enough,  but  the  words  seemed  a  long  way  off 
from  the  thanksgiving  that  glowed  in  her  heart. 
Mr.  Woodfern  turned  away  abruptly,  and  entered 
the  work-room. 

"  Now  come  over  here  and  let  me  give  you  a 
few  hints  from  an  experienced  hand.  We  shan't 
want  you  any  more,  George." 

George  Woodfern  laughed,  and  in  turn  departed 
to  the  privacy  of  the  work-room ;  and  the  two 
young  ladies  were  left  to  their  own  delibera 
tions. 

All  this  time  Captain  Thompson  was  patiently 

sitting  in  &    carriage    at   the    entrance,    awaiting 

the  return  of  his  charge.     On  the  arrival  of  the 

train  in  Boston  at  one  o'clock,    he  had   taken   a 

carriage  and  driven  to   the   engraver's.     He    had 

been  anxious   to   participate    in    the    interview  ; 

„  but  Becky,  fearing  his  quick  temper  might  cause 

trouble,  had  prevailed  upon  him  to  allow  her  to 

be  the  sole  carver  of  her  fortunes  with  the  wood 

14 


210  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

carver.  Thus  far  the  peppery  captain  had  enjoyed 
this,  to  him,  new  sensation  hugely.  The  bright, 
cheerful,  happy  demeanor  of  the  girl,  her  intel 
ligent  and  witty  conversation,  her  delight  in  the 
fresh  experience  of  the  day,  had  made  him  really 
happy ;  and  his  warm  heart  bubbled  up  through 
its  rough  exterior  with  desires  to  still  further 
gratify  her  wishes.  * 

And  so  he  waited  patiently  a  long  hour  for 
her  return.  She  came  bounding  down  the  stairs, 
and  leaped  into  the  carriage,  her  face  rosy,  her 
eyes  bright  with  triumph. 

"  It's  a  success,  captain.  I've  conquered,  and 
I'm  carrying  home  lots  of  work." 

"  Of  course  you've  conquered.  I  knew  you 
would;  and  we've  done  it  without  their — her 
—  help,  too,"  said  the  captain,  chuckling  with 
triumph.  "Now  let's  see — we've  got  two  hours 
for  dinner  and  a  drive ;  and  then  back  to  Clev 
erly." 

They  drove  to  a  hotel,  had  an  excellent  din 
ner,  took  the  carriage  again,  and  Becky  was 
shown  the  Boston  sights,  all  of  which  were  new 
revelations  to  the  country  girl,  whose  delight 
made  the  old  captain's  heart  glow  and  glow 
again. 


RUNN7NG  TO    WASTE.  211 

In  due  time  they  took  the  train  for  Foxtown, 
and  then  Becky  related'  her  adventure,  in  the 
course  of  which  Miss  Alice  Parks  appeared  upon 
the  scene. 

"She's  a  dear  friend  of  Harry's  —  your  Harry, 
captain.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  one  of  these 
days  she  should  become  his  wife." 

Becky  said  this  bravely.  The  captain  could 
not  know  what  a  throb  of  pain  darted  through 
Becky's  bosom  at  the  thought. 

"  Become  his  wife !  Nonsense  !  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  Becky  ?  " 

The  captain  looked  fierce  and  angry,  and 
Becky  saw  it. 

"  Well,  all  I  know,  he  calls  her  his  dear 
friend,  and  she  calls  him  her  dear  friend,  and 
they  write  to  each  other ;  and  that's  the  way 
lovers  do  —  don't  they?" 

The  captain  stared  out  of  the  window,  moving 
uneasily  in  his  seat,  snapping  his  teeth  together 
very  often,  all  of  which  Becky  saw  and  took 
advantage  of.  A  wild  scheme  had  crept  into  the 
girl's  head.  Harry  and  Harry's  mother  had  done 
much  for  her ;  it  was  time  she  should  repay  it. 
The  captain  had  a  wilder  scheme  in  his  head, 
and  was  in  exactly  the  right  mood  to  combat 
the  proposed  alliance. 


212  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"He  marry  this  girl!  I'd  like  to  see  him 
attempt  it !  I'd  like  to  see  him  attempt  it !  " 

This  came  involuntarily  from  the  captain's 
mouth  after  a  very  long  silence. 

"  Why,  captain,"  said  Becky,  "she's  a  splen 
did  girl,  and  so  smart  with  her  pencil !  And  if 
they  love  each  other,"  —  here  she  gave  a  gulp, 
— "  I'm  sure  it's  only  right  that  they  should 
marry.  And  then  Harry's  so  good !  O,  it 
would  be  wicked  to  prevent  his  happiness.  You 
won't  —  will  you,  captain  ?  " 

The  captain  said  nothing,  but  grew  more  and 
more  uneasy ;  said  nothing,  but  thought,  thought 
hard.  What  could  he  do  ?  He  had  cast  the  boy 
off;  he  was  his  own  master.  He  had  no  power 
to  accomplish  the  wish  that  was  in  his  mind. 

"  O,  if  you  only  knew  how  good  and  kind 
Harry  has  been  to  me,  you  would  never  desire 
to  break  his  heart." 

Here  Becky  broke  down,  and  commenced  sob 
bing.  The  captain  started,  put  his  arm  about 
Becky,  and  drew  her  head  to  his  breast,  still 
looking  out  of  the  window,  and  saying  nothing. 

Becky's  weeping  was  of  short  duration ;  there 
was  too  much  at  stake;  and  so,  still  lying  on 
the  captain's  breast,  with  his  arm  about  her, 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  213 

softly  and  gently  she  spoke  of  Harry ;  of  his 
kindness  to  her ;  of  his  brave  deeds ;  of  the  love 
he  had  gained  from  all  who  knew  him ;  of  his' 
devotion  to  his  mother;  rehearsed  incidents  in 
his  college  life ;  brought  out  of  his  boyhood 
history  little  scraps  of  goodness  so  carefully 
treasured  in  her  grateful  heart.  If  she  had  been 
pleading  for  Harry's  life,  she  could  not  have 
been  more  earnest  and  determined  in  the  recital 
of  his  virtues.  And  the  captain  sat  there,  listen 
ing,  saying  nothing ;  and  the  little  pleader  bab 
bled  on,  unaware  that  at  the  captain's  heart  the 
old  obstinate  roots  were  being  plucked  from  their 
bed ;  that  the  warmth  of  his  new  love  was  flow 
ing  in  thawing  out  the  long-frozen  channel  of 
paternal  affection. 

The  cars  reached  Foxtown,  and  still  the  cap 
tain  said  nothing.  The  carriage  was  in  waiting, 
and  an  hour's  ride  took  them  to  Cleverly.  The 
captain  was  silent  all  the  way.  Phil  drove 
straight  on  to  the  Sleeper  house.  It  was  twelve 
o'clock.  There  was  a  light  in  the  sitting-room. 
At  the  sound  of  wheels,  Mrs.  Thompson  camo 
to  the  door.  The  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and 
Becky  saw  Harry  peering  out  into  the  darkness. 
She  jumped  from  the  carriage. 


214  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"Won't  you  come  in,  captain?"    said   Becky. 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"  I  shall  come  up  to  see  you  to-morrow,  to 
thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to-day.  O,  I've 
had  a  splendid  time.  Good  night." 

She  approached  the  carriage,  and  held  out  her 
hand.  The  captain  grasped  it. 

"  I  shall  come  up  to-morrow,  captain.  Shall 
I  come  alone?  " 

Becky's  voice  trembled.  She  had  been  trying 
hard  for  a  triumph.  She  feared  she  had  failed. 

"  No,  Becky,  no.  God  bless  you,  child  !  Bring 
him  with  you ;  bring  Harry  home ! " 

Phil  Hague  drove  off  down  the  hill  at  a  lively 
rate,  Uncle  Ned  being  started  into  a  gallop,  by 
an  Irish  howl,  which  might  have  been  heard  a 
mile  off. 

"  Bring  Harry  home !  "  Becky  heard  it ;  Mrs. 
Thompson  heard  it ;  Harry  heard  it.  She  had 
triumphed,  after  all  —  this  little  girl,  whom  Mrs. 
Thompson  folded  to  her  bosom,  whom  Harry 
clasped  by  the  hand.  Mother  and  son  might 
well  be  happy.  Reconciliation  at  last.  But  for 
Becky,  happiness  supreme.  She  had  accom 
plished  this,  and  hers  was  the  hand  commis 
sioned  to  bring  Harry  home. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  215 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DELIA  SLEEPEK'S  SHIP  COMES  IN. 

^ECKY  received  the  warm  thanks  and  con 
gratulations  of  the  happy  mother  and 
son  with  a  grateful  heart.  She  had 
been  enabled  to  repay,  in  some  part,  the  love 
and  care  they  had  bestowed  upon  her.  She  had 
conquered  the  stubborn  father,  and  lifted  the 
cross  from  the  shoulders  of  the  patient  wife. 
But  she  felt  that  she  had  been  but  an  instru 
ment  shaped  by  their  hands  for  the  work,  and 
to  them  she  unselfishly  gave  the  credit  of  her 
triumph.  Not  all,  however  ;  one  other,  who  had 
been  her  counsellor  and  guide  ;  one  to  whom  all 
her  thoughts  and  actions  had  been  confessed ; 
one  who,  with  almost  supernatural  wisdom  had 
taught  her  wayward  feet  to  tread  the  path  of 
duty ;  who  out  of  her  own  needs,  had  sought 
peace  in  the  boundless  love  of  a  heavenly  Father, 
and  had  brought  her  child  into  the  same  tender 
15 


216  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

embrace,  —  the  stricken  mother,  who  for  two 
long  years,  helpless  upon  her  bed,  had  borne  all 
so  meekly  and  patiently ;  to  her  the  grateful 
daughter  gave  a  generous  share  of  the  glory 
which  surrounded  this  unexpected  reconciliation. 

That  night  mother  and  daughter  shared  the 
same  couch.  Aunt  Hulda,  who  had  a  great 
antipathy  to  strange  beds,  banished  herself  from 
her  accustomed  pillow  without  a  word  of  com 
plaint,  glad  to  make  the  child,  who  had  wound 
herself  about  the  queer  spinster  as  no  other  had 
ever  been  able  to,  happy  at  any  cost.  Alone 
with  her  mother,  Becky's  tongue  flew  fast  and 
furious  with  the  recital  of  her  wanderings  and 
workings,  until  the  weariness  of  the  long,  strange 
day  overpowered  her  nimble  organ  of  speech. 
In  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  she  dropped  asleep, 
her  mother's  hand  fast  clasped  in  hers,  all  for 
gotten,  even  her  accustomed  prayer  unspoken. 
But  it  lay  there  in  the  warm,  beating,  affection 
ate  heart,  and  the  mother's  lips  bore  it  to  the 
heavenly  throne,  joined  to  her  own  earnest  plea 
that  blessings  from  the  Unseen  hand  might  strew 
the  path  of  life  with  much  of  happiness  for  her 
own  precious  child. 

Having  eased  his    unhappy    conscience    of  the 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  217 

heavy  load  it  had  borne  so  long,  the  conquered 
captain  went  home  in  a  dazed  sort  of  amazement 
at  the  act  which  he  had  committed.  He  could 
not  regret  it,  would  not  have  recalled  his  words 
had  he  the  power.  There  was  a  warming  up 
of  his  stubborn  spirit  when  he  thought  of  the 
girl  who  had  so  craftily  spread  for  him  the  net 
in  which  he  had  been  captured,  but  no  desire 
to  loose  his  bonds,  and  escape.  It  was  all  for 
the  best ;  they  would  be  a  happy  family  after 
the  first  meeting.  But  the  first  meeting  bothered 
the  captain.  What  could  he  say  to  this  son 
who  had  been  shut  out  from  home  so  many 
years  ?  It  was  a  serious  question,  and  one  he 
could  not  readily  answer.  He  went  home  think 
ing  about  it :  went  to  bed,  still  thinking  ;  and 
at  last  fell  asleep,  to  dream  of  it. 

Mrs.  Thompson  came  home,  escorted  to  her 
door  by  Harry ;  said  "  Good  night,"  with  a 
happy  heart, — it  was  to  be  their  last  parting  in 
this  strange  manner ;  was  not  surprised  to  find 
her  husband  missing  when  she  entered  the  sit 
ting-room,  nor  surprised  to  find  him  snoring 
when  she  entered  the  sleeping-room,  but  had  a 
quiet  laugh  to  herself  as  she  thought  how 
ashamed  the  captain  tried  to  appear  of  his 


218  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

good  actions.  She  would  not  disturb  him  for 
the  world ;  said  nothing  to  him  of  the  last 
night's  work,  the  next  morning,  as  he  fidgeted 
at  the  breakfast  table,  and  looked  everywhere 
but  in  her  face. 

The  captain  did  not  leave  the  house,  but  gave 
his  whole  attention  to  the  preparation  of  the 
speech  with  which  he  was  to  meet  his  long- 
absent  son.  On  one  thing  he  was  determined — 
he  would  be  a  father  still.  He  had  been  dis 
obeyed  ;  it  was  for  the  son  to  ask  pardon.  He 
would  be  cool,  dignified,  collected.  He  watched 
the  bridge  road  uneasily.  At  half  past  eight 
he  saw  Becky  leave  the  gate  with  her  school- 
books  in  her  hands,  and  after  came  Harry,  He 
left  the  window  at  once.  It  was  coming ;  it 
would  soon  be  over.  He  sat  on  the  sofa,  cov 
ered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  waited.  He 
did  not  need  to  look  —  he  felt  their  coming. 
Now  they  were  on  the  bridge  ;  now  they  had 
passed  tlis  school-house,  were  crossing  the  road, 
were  at  the  door.  Yes,  a  ring  !  Mrs.  Thomp 
son  rose  from  her  chair,  looked  at  her  husband, 
with  his  face  hidden,  smiled,  and  passed  into 
the  entry.  Be  a  man,  captain ;  be  a  father, 
cool,  dignified,  collected !  The  door  opened  ; 
the  captain  rose  to  his  feet. 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  219 

"Good  morning,  captain.  Here  I  am,  and 
here's  Harry."  Becky  Sleeper's  voice. 

He  looked  at  her  smiling  face,  beyond  her  to 
the  manly  form  of  his  son,  advancing  with  out 
stretched  hand,  then  grasped  that  hand,  and 
shook  it  with  nervous  energy. 

"  Harry,  my  boy,  welcome  home.  I  have  been 
a  poor  father  to  you.  Forgive  and  try  me 
again !  " 

He  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  like  a  child. 
The  nard  heart  was  melted,  and  the  cool,  col 
lected,  dignified  plans,  on  which  he  had  so  much 
depended,  were  dissipated  at  the  touch  of 
Nature. 

Mrs.  Thompson  quietly  drew  Becky  into  the 
dining-room,  and  shut  the  door,  leaving  father 
and  son  to  become  better  acquainted.  The  con 
ference  was  so  long  that  Becky  slipped  out  of 
the  side  door,  fearful  of  being  late  to  school, 
after  a  promise  given  to  Mrs.  Thompson  that 
she  would  come  in  and  take  tea  with  the 
reunited  family.  She  kept  her  promise,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Harry  in  his  right 
place,  the  captain  in  a  jovial  fit  of  good  nature, 
and  Mrs.  Thompson's  handsome  face  radiant  with 
the  warm  glow  of  a  contented  heart. 


220  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

The  captain  was  not  quite  content  with  this 
quiet  reconciliation,  but  must  kill  the  fatted 
calf  in  honor  of  his  son's  return ;  and  three 
days  afterwards  the  good  people  of  Cleverly 
were  surprised  by  the  intelligence  that  the 
Thompsons  were  to  give  a  party. 

And  such  a  party !  The  Thompson  mansion 
was  lighted  from  bottom  to  top,  and  along  the 
entire  reach  of  the  various  outbuildings,  the 
trees  were  hung  with  lanterns.  A  blaze  of  light 
outside,  a  scene  of  joyous  festivity  within.  No 
body  was  forgotten.  Parson  Arnold,  in  clerical 
black  and  white,  with  his  wife  in  a  new  silk 
dress, —  the  gift  of  Mrs.  Thompson, —  benignly 
circulated  among  their  flock.  Mr.  Drinkwater 
was  there,  crowding  Deacon  Proctor  into  a  cor 
ner,  with  the  discussion  of  a  theological  point. 
Poor  Mr.  York  was  there,  with  a  feeble  cough, 
and  dilated  nostrils  eagerly  sniffing  the  air,  as 
the  door  of  the  dining-room  occasionally  opened, 
while  his  buxom  wife  was  busily  at  work  with 
Silly,  in  the  kitchen ;  and  little  Jenny  York 
was  there,  perched  on  the  arm  of  a  sofa,  drink 
ing  in  with  rare  delight  all  this  flow  of  mirth, 
and  light,  and  gay  attire,  and  pleasant  conver 
sation.  The  scholars,  dressed  in  their  best, 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  221 

played  and  romped  about  the  many-roomed  man 
sion  to  their  hearts'  content.  And  Teddy,  tho 
captain's  favorite,  dressed  in  a  new  suit, —  his 
patron's  gift, —  proudly  moved  among  the  com 
pany,  with  his  sister  on  his  arm.  And  Becky 
— light  and  joyous  Becky — was  the  queen;  every 
where  she  met  smiles  and  kind  words  of  congratu 
lation,  for,  somehow,  her  share  in  the  bringing 
about  of  this  happy  night  had  been  noised  abroad, 
and  all  were  anxious  to  do  her  honor.  A  dozen 
times  that  night  Captain  Thompson  had  clasped 
her  hand. 

"It's  all  your  work,  Becky!" 

A  dozen  times  the  face  of  Harry  Thompson 
had  beamed  upon  her,  "  Thanks  to  you,  Becky!" 
And  every  look  of  the  happy  mother,  as  she 
moved  among  her  guests,  was  a  silent  prayer  of 
thankfulness  to  Becky. 

It  was  a  gay  night  for  Cleverly;  and  when 
the  door  of  the  dining-room  was  thrown  open, 
and  the  guests  assembled  about  the  tables, — 
whose  crooked  legs  seemed  ready  to  snap  under 
their  burdens  of  good  cheer, —  a  night  of  feast 
ing  such  as  Cleverly  had  never  before  witnessed. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  Teddy,  daz 
zled  by  the  tempting  array  of  edibles,  quite  for 
got  his  gallantry,  and  slipping  from  Becky's 


222  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

side,  went  in  pursuit  of  a  far-off  frozen  pudding. 
His  place  was  quickly  supplied  by  Harry  Thomp 
son. 

"  Well,  pet,  enjoying  yourself,  I  hope." 

"  Enjoying  myself !  Why,  Harry,  I  never  was 
so  happy  in  all  my  life  —  never  ! ' ' 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you  from  a  dear  friend 
—  Alice  Parks." 

"  Indeed  !     Have  you  heard  from  her  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  received  a  letter  from  her  to-day ; 
and  it's  so  full  of  praises  of  one  Becky  Sleeper, 
that  I  am  really  jealous." 

Becky  made  no  reply.  Somehow,  she  did  not 
feel  quite  so  happy  now.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
they  were  getting  along  very  pleasantly,  with 
out  having  this  young  lady  added  to  their  com 
pany.  He  was  jealous,  too,  of  her  evident  fond 
ness  for  the  little  girl  she  had  befriended.  He 
must  be  very  much  in  love  with  her,  then.  She 
looked  up,  and  met  such  a  mischievous  twinkle 
in  his  eyes,  that  she  laughed  aloud  at  her  own 
folly. 

"  O,  Harry,  you  do  like  to  torment  me.  I 
hope  you  won't  plague  her  so,  when  you  get 
her." 

"  When  I  get  her  ?     O,  no,  Becky,  I  shall  be 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  223 

a  different  man,  a  very  different  man  —  when  I 
get  her." 

Still  the  same  mischievous  look.  What  could 
he  mean?  Was  it  all  settled,  then?  Was  he 
sure  of  her  ?  She  turned  away,  sick  at  heart, 
disappointed  at  she  knew  not  what.  She  only 
wished  she  was  at  home. 

"  Here,  Becky,  come  with  me.  I  have  pur 
loined  a  big  dish  of  goodies,  and  hidden  it  under 
the  sofa  in  the  sitting-room.  Come  with  me  ; 
we  shall  be  alone  in  there." 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  capt  lin  ;  a  welcome 
relief  to  her  embarrassed  position.  Smilingly  she 
took  the  arm  of  her  friend,  and  soon  they  were 
comfortably  snuggled  together  on  the  sofa,  and 
the  captain's  teasing  offspring  forgotten. 

"  Ah,  Becky,  there's  lots  of  young  and  gay 
fellows  about  to-night;  but  I  know  you  will 
spare  a  few  moments  for  the  old  man,"  said  the 
captain,  as  he  produced  his  "  goodies "  from 
beneath  the  sofa. 

"  Indeed  I  will.  O,  you  are  so  kind  to  make 
Harry's  coming  home  so  pleasant  to  all  of  us!" 

"  Yes,  chatterbox ;  and  you  were  kind  to  give 
me  the  opportunity  to  do  it.  But  tell  me,  what 
shall  we  do  with  him,  now  we've  got  him 
home  ?  " 


224  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  Why  keep  him,  of  course.  You  don't  think 
he'll  run  away  —  do  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  he  will.  He's  talking  now  of  going 
to  Boston  to  study  law.  It's  all  nonsense.  He 
needn't  do  anything  but  just  spend  my  money." 

"  He  never  would  be  satisfied  with  such  a  life 
as  that.  He'd  make  a  splendid  lawyer,  I  know." 

"Yes;  but  he  can  study  with  Squire  Barnes, 
here  at  home.  There's  few  lawyers  can  beat 
him  in  an  argument.  If  I  could  only  find  some 
way  to  keep  him  here !  He's  old  enough  to 
marry." 

Becky  winced. 

"  Perhaps  he's  thinking  of  that,  and  wants  to 
be  in  Boston,  near  Alice  Parks." 

"  Alice  Fiddlesticks !  "  shouted  the  captain, 
upsetting  his  plate.  "  Don't  talk  nonsense, 
Becky." 

"  He  had  a  letter  from  her  to-day,"  said  Becky, 
innocently  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  she  might 
be  betraying  a  secret. 

44  He  did — did  he?"  said  the  captain,  grow 
ing  red  in  the  face.  "  I'll  put  a  stop  to  that. 
He  shan't  marry  that  girl ;  I  won't  have  it.  I'll 
just  have  him  in  here,  and  know  what  he 
means." 


RUNNING   TO    WASTE.  225 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  dropping  his  plate. 

"  O,  captain,  don't  say  anything  to  him 
to-night,"  cried  Becky,  seizing  the  captain's  arm, 
and  preventing  his  leaving  the  room.  "  He 
would  hate  me  if  I  made  trouble  between  him 
and  you;  and  I  love  him  so  dearly !  Don't  cap 
tain,  don't.  You'll  break  my  heart." 

The  little  goose  dropped  the  captain's  arm, 
and  fled  to  the  sofa,  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  and  sobbed  aloud.  The  captain  stared  at 
her.  It  was  evident  to  him  she  did  love  Harry  ; 
and  his  hatred  of  Miss  Alice  Parks  grew  stronger. 
But  it  was  no  time  for  a  scene ;  and  he  sat 
himself  down  beside  Becky,  put  his  arm  around 
her,  and  penitently  promised  to  be  quiet,  and 
not  interfere.  He  gradually  succeeded  in  bring 
ing  Becky  into  a  lighter  mood ;  and  as  the 
refreshed  company  from  the  dining-room  drifted 
that  way,  the  party  on  the  sofa  were  hugely 
enjoying  a  joke  the  captain  had  perpetrated  for 
the  benefit  of  his  companion. 

In  due  time  the  dining-room  was  cleared  of 
the  fragments  of  the  feast,  the  tables  rolled 
against  the  Avails,  and,  with  Harry  as  master  of 
ceremonies,  a  succession  of  familiar  in-door  pas 
times  was  inaugurated  for  the  younger  members 


226  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

of  the  company.  "  Fox  and  Geese,"  "  Blind 
Man's  Buff,"  and  "Hunt  the  Slipper,"  gave 
pleasant  entertainment  to  the  light-hearted  revel 
lers. 

Nor  fiid  the  happy  occasion  end  here.  Mr. 
Clairborn,  the  chorester,  had  been  running 
about  the  room,  watching  Mr.  Arnold  with  a 
feverish  excitement  he  found  hard  to  control. 
At  last  that  worthy  individual,  to  set  a  good 
example  to  his  parishioners,  tucked  his  good  wife 
under  his  arm  and  departed.  Then  Mr.  Clair 
born  ran  to  the  sofa  and  from  behind  it  took  a 
long  green  bag,  of  peculiar  shape,  and  from  the 
bag  he  took  —  a  fiddle,  to  the  amazement  of 
certain  staid  neighbors,  who  thought  the  man 
crazy.  Of  these  people  he  took  not  the  least 
notice,  but,  with  his  instrument  in  full  view, 
marched  to  the  head  of  the  dining-room. 

Instantly  there  was  a  shout,  "  A  dance !  a 
dance  !  "  A  dance  in  Deacon  Thompson's  house! 
He'd  soon  put  a  stop  to  that.  Anxious  looks 
were  cast  in  his  direction ;  but  he  was  busy 
talking  to  Mrs.  York,  and  took  not  the  least 
notice  of  what  was  going  on  about  him. 

"  Hull's  Victory ;  take  your  partners  !  "  shouted 
Mr.  Clairborn. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  227 

The  captain  did  not  move ;  the  company  did. 
There  was  a  moment's  bustle,  and  then  Mr. 
Clairborn's  bow  went  dancing  across  his  fiddle, 
and  twenty  happy  couples  danced  up  and  down 
the  dining-room.  Then  came  "  Virginia  Reel." 
"  Money  Musk,"  Fisher's  Hornpipe,"  and  a  reg 
ular  succession  of  good  old  contra  dances,  with 
a  merry  accompaniment  of  glib  tongues  arid 
happy  laughter.  O,  captain,  you  are  laying 
yourself  open  to  a  severe  reckoning  at  the  next 
church  meeting.  Little  cared  the  stubborn  cap 
tain  what  might  come  of  his  folly.  "  Eat,  drink, 
and  be  merry."  The  lost  son  was  home  again. 
They  might  make  a  bonfire  of  his  old  house ; 
but  they  should  never  forget  this  night. 

In  the  height  of  their  merriment,  a  strange 
figure  dashed  into  their  midst.  It  was  Aunt 
Hulda. 

"Stop,  quick!     Where's  Becky  Sleeper?" 

The  music  ceased,  and  all  gazed  at  the  weird 
figure  which,  with  glaring  eyes  and  dishevelled 
hair,  stood  in  their  midst. 

"  Here,  Aunt  Hulda,  what's  the  matter?  "  and 
Becky  stepped  from  her  place  among  the  dancers. 

"  O,  Becky!  Becky!  home,  quick!  -  Your 
mother's  had  another  shock ! 


228  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

Becky  screamed,  and  ran  after  Aunt  Hulda, 
who  immediately  turned  and  left  the  house. 
There  was  no  more  dancing :  the  company  qui 
etly  dispersed.  When  the  last  guest  had  departed, 
Mrs.  Thompson  put  on  her  shawl,  and  with 
Harry  and  the  captain,  started  for  the  house 
across  the  bridge.  The  church  clock  struck 
eleven. 

At  that  very  moment  the  train  entered  the 
depot  at  Foxtown,  and  from  it  jumped  a  stout, 
long-bearded  weather-bronzed  man. 

Aunt  Hulda  was  right.  A  second  stroke  of 
paralysis  had  fallen  upon  Delia  Sleeper,  sealing 
the  lips  that  had  so  often  of  late  uttered  tender 
words  of  love  to  the  heart-broken  child,  who 
now  lay  weeping  upon  her  breast.  There  was 
no  sign  of  life  upon  that  pale  face,  save  in  the 
eyes  that  wandered  from  face  to  face,  and  sought 
the  open  door  with  a  wishful  look.  They  were 
all  about  her,  —  Aunt  Hulda,  Mrs.  Thompson, 
Harry,  the  captain,  Teddy,  —  all  anxously  wait 
ing  the  verdict  of  Dr.  Allen.  Soon  the  doctor 
made  his  appearance,  soberly  examined  his  patient, 
gave  a  few  whispered  instructions  to  Aunt  Hulda, 
and  left  the  room,  followed  by  the  captain. 

"  O,  mother,  speak  to  me  !  only  speak  to  me  !  " 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  229 

sobbed  Becky.  "  Tell  me  you  forgive  me  for 
leaving  you.  I  didn't  know  this  was  coming — • 
indeed  I  didn't.  Forgive  me  dear,  dear  mother  ! '' 

No  sound  from  the  lips,  but  the  eyes  sought 
the  dear  face  with  a  troubled  look. 

"Nay,  Becky,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson,  "you 
have  done  no  wrong.  It  was  your  mother's 
wish  that  you  should  go  to-night." 

The  roving  eyes  thanked  the  good  woman  for 
her  interpretation  of  their  language. 

"No,  no;  it  was  wrong  to  leave  her.  She'll 
die,  and  leave  me  —  I  know  she  will." 

"Hush,  Becky,"  said  Aunt  Hulda.  "The 
doctor  said  she'd  rally.  Great  care  is  necessary. 
Another  shock  would  be  fatal." 

Thus  admonished,  Becky  grew  very  quiet,  but 
knelt  at  the  side  of  the  bed,  with  her  eyes 
fastened  upon  her  mother's.  Mrs.  Thompson 
tried  to  take  her  from  the  room,  but  she  waved 
her  off.  Notwithstanding  the  doctor's  whispered 
hope,  dread  forebodings  filled  the  hearts  of  all 
the  watchers  of  that  pale  face,  with  its  gleam 
ing  eyes.  For  an  hour  that  room  was  as  quiet 

as  if  beneath  a  spell.     No  one  there  could  be  of 

• 

the  least  assistance ;  yet  not  one  departed.  So 
quiet,  that  the  far-off  noise  of  wheels  at  that 
late  hour  startled  them ;  and  a  sudden  light 


230  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

dilated  the  watchful  eyes  upon  the  bed.  They 
fastened  upon  the  door,  full  of  expectancy  and 
hope. 

The  wheels  drew  nearer,  nearer  yet ;  they 
stopped  before  the  house.  A  moment  after  there 
came  a  hurried  tread ;  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  in  the  room  stood  the  long-expected 
husband, —  Cyrus  Sleeper. 

"  Delia,  wife  !  home,  home  at  last !  " 

Those  wishful  eyes  fastened  upon  his  face  an 
instant,  gleamed  brighter  still,  and  then  closed 
—  closed  forever.  There  work  was  done. 

Faithful  eyes ;  let  them  be  covered.  They 
have  watched  and  waited  for  the  ship ;  it  has 
come,  freighted  with  treasure ;  but  not  to  en 
rich  that  loving  heart.  The  ship  has  come,  to 
meet  another  leaving  an  earthly  port  —  God's 
invisible  bark,  bearing  one  more  purified  soul 
out  into  the  sea  of  eternity,  unto  the  haven  of 
heavenly  bliss.  Speedy  shall  be  thy  voyage, 
gentle  mother.  Behind  thee  are  tears  and  lamen 
tations,  and  the  memory  of  thy  patient  endurance 
of  adversity's  long  trial ;  before  thee  lies  the  new 
life.  Freed  from  earthly  bonds,  eager  to  do  thy 
Maker's  work  in  the  great  hereafter,  loving 
spirits,  with  glad  hosannas,  shall  welcome  thy 
corning  to  the  port  of  peace. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  231 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

TWO   YEARS   AFTER. 

little  brown  house  on  the  hill  has 
vanished ;  in  its  place  stands  a  modern 
mansion,  broad  and  high,  attractively 
arrayed  in  white  and  green,  with  commodious 
out-buildings,  broad  walks  and  flower-beds  about 
it ;  a  wide  and  well-cultivated  vegetable  patch 
stretching  to  the  water,  with  a  young  orchard, 
handsome  and  vigorous,  away  to  the  right. 
There  are  evidences  of  abundant  means  in  its 
laying  out,  and  of  rare  taste  in  its  nurture.  ft 
is  still  the  Sleeper  place,  and  Captain  Cyrus 
Sleeper  is  the  head  of  its  household.  When  the 
earthly  remains  of  Delia  Sleeper  had  been  laid 
away  in  the  quiet  churchyard,  and  the  serious 
faces  of  the  gossips  of  Cleverly  had  resumed 
there  wonted  aspect,  eager  was  the  desire  of 
these  curious  people  to  know  the  cause  of  the 
long  absence  of  the  captain ;  and  the  stricken 


232  RUNNING   TO    WASTE. 

household  were  not  long  left  to  the  solitude  they 
coveted. 

The  captain's  story  was  very  brief.  Generally 
a  man  of  voluble  tongue,  the  sad  scene  which 
had  greeted  his  return  home  seemed  to  have  so 
shocked  him,  that  his  communications  were 
abrupt,  often  rude,  and  entirely  unsatisfactory  to 
the  news-seekers. 

He  had  been  to  California,  among  the  first 
adventurers  to  the  Golden  State,  had  struck  gold 
with  the  earliest,  and  at  the  end  of  a  year's 
absence  from  home,  returned  to  San  Francisco 
well  laden  with  treasure.  Here  a  thirst  for  spec 
ulation  took  hold  of  him ;  and,  without  experi 
ence,  he  became  the  gull  of  a  set  of  sharpers, 
and  in  less  than  three  months  was  penniless. 
Back  to  the  mines  again,  but  with  a  sterner 
experience.  The  mines  were  overcrowded,  gold 
was  harder  to  find,  and  still  harder  to  keep. 
Yet  he  worked  away  for  eighteen  months, 
recovered  all  he  had  lost,  and  came  back  to  San 
Francisco,  determined  to  start  for  home.  But 
this  time  he  had  a  partner ;  and  before  the 
division  of  the  hard-won  nuggets  was  made,  his 
partner,  thinking  a  whole  loaf  better  than  half 
a  loaf,  vanished  with  the  joint  stock,  leaving 
Sleeper  with  barely  enough  to  reach  home, 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  233 

At  this  time  news  of  the  gold  discoveries  in 
Australia  reached  California,  and  thirsty  Sleeper 
started  for  the  new  fount,  to  fill  his  empty 
pitcher.  His  good  luck  returned  to  him,  and, 
after  long  and  patient  delving,  the  coveted 
treasure  was  in  his  grasp.  Taught  wisdom  by 
experience,  he  banked  his  gold  as  fast  as  gained, 
and  when  he  reached  Boston  was  worth  at  least 
three  hundred* thousand  dollars. 

He  reached  home,  a  wealthy  man,  to  find  his 
wife  dying  of  neglect ;  to  find  she  had  not  heard 
from  him  for  years.  He  could  not  understand 
it.  Had  he  written  ?  Certainly,  often.  But  no 
letters  had  ever  reached  her.  Yet  when  closely 
questioned,  it  appeared  he  had  only  written 
twice,  being -a  man  with  whom  penmanship  was 
a  most  unmanageable  craft,  and  had  entrusted 
his  epistles  to  the  care  of  others.  He  was  a  fair 
type  of  too  many  sailors  ;  the  bonds  of  affection 
held  strong  at  home ;  but  away,  the  driving 
winds  and  tossing  waves  snapped  them,  and  they 
were  useless  to  guide  the  giddy  rover. 

Cyrus  Sleeper  mourned  his  wife  deeply  for  a 
while,  and  then  his  bustling  spirit  set  itself  to 
work.  He  was  proud  of  his  daughter ;  gazed 
upon  her  with  admiration  ;  watched  her  quick 


234  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

steps  and  ready  tact  in  household  affairs,  and 
swore  a  big  sailor  oath  to  himself  that  she  should 
have  the  best  home  in  Cleverly.  He  kept  nis 
word.  He  went  to  Captain  Thompson,  and  asked 
him  to  take  his  child  until  he  could  build.  The 
captain  took  them  all  —  his  friend,  Becky,  Teddy, 
even  Aunt  Hulda  ;  and  for  a  year  they  were  the 
inhabitants  of  his  house. 

Then  the  old  house  came  down,  and  the  new 
structure  went  up.  With  ready  money  and  a 
pushing  spirit,  Cyrus  Sleeper  found  men  and 
materials  ready  at  his  command ;  and  after  a 
year's  absence  the  family  returned  to  the  old 
spot,  to  find  it  entirely  metamorphosed,  as  if  by 
the  hands  of  an  enchanter. 

During  this  year  Becky  had  not  been  idle. 
Though  the  necessity  for  work  had  passed  away, 
the  spirit  of  independence  still  hovered  about  her. 
She  had  made  a  contract  with  Mr.  Woodfern, 
and  she  determined  to  fulfil  it.  She  found  draw 
ing  on  wood  no  easy  matter  ;  but  she  resolutely 
persevered,  and  in  a  fortnight  sent  her  three 
blocks  to  Mr.  Woodfern.  Two  were  accepted ; 
the  third  was  returned,  with  the  concise  mes 
sage,  "Try  again,"  and  matter  for  three  new 
illustrations.  Emboldened  by  her  success,  she 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  235 

worked  at  her  drawing  through  the  winter,  with 
a  constantly  growing  love  for  her  task,  and  ever 
increasing  show  of  improvement,  until  no  blocks 
were  returned,  and  the  engraver  clamored  for 
more. 

Nor  did  her  usefulness  end  here.  Eager  to 
relieve  Mrs.  Thompson  of  a  part  of  the  burden 
which  her  large  family  entailed  upon  her,  she 
dashed  into  domestic  affairs  with  alacrity,  and 
proved  an  able  assistant,  and  a  ready  solver  of 
the  mysteries  of  housekeeping.  Another  loving 
and  holy  task  —  the  care  of  her  mother's  grave 
—  was  never  neglected.  Daily  the  grave,  which 
bore  a  white  slab  at  its  head,  on  which  the 
name  "Mother"  was  carved,  was  visited  by  her 
on  whose  heart  that  dear  name  was  so  indelibly 
engraved;  and  twining  vines  and  fresh  white 
flowers  gave  token  of  the  fond  affection  of  the 
motherless  child. 

Poor  Aunt  Hulda  having  thus  unexpectedly 
become  an  inmate  of  Captain  Thompson's  house, 
where  she  was  treated  with  the  utmost  respect, 
had  a  return  of  her  old  grumbling  programme, 
to  the  dismay  of  Becky.  Having  no  active 
employment  to  keep  her  mind  off  herself,  it  was 
no  wonder  that  the  appetite  she  "had  so  long 


236  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

supplied  should  grow  restive.  But  not  until  the 
spinster  spoke  of  going  over  to  "  help  "  Parson 
Arnold's  wife,  did  Becky  hit  upon  a  cure  for 
her  nervousness.  Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
her  that  there  were  others  who  needed  real 
"  help, "  and  so,  taking  Aunt  Hulda  to  her  cham 
ber,  she  spread  out  a  neat  little  campaign  of 
charity,  in  which  Aunt  Hulda,  furnished  with  a 
well-filled  purse,  and  unlimited  freedom  to  call 
upon  her  for  supplies,  was  to  enact  the  role  of 
an  angel  of  mercy,  because  Becky  was  "  so  busy." 
This  dispelled  the  vapors  at  once.  The  homely 
angel  took  up  her  mission  with  alacrity  ;  and 
many  a  poor  creature  in  Cleverly  blessed  the 
dear  old  maid  for  her  ministrations,  with  tears 
of  gratitude. 

When  the  new  house  was  finished,  and  they 
had  moved  in,  Cyrus  Sleeper  walked  over  to 
settle  with  Captain  Thompson.  He  found  this 
no  easy  matter.  Captain  Thompson  would  not 
listen  to  it.  He  had  induced  Delia  Sleeper  to 
embark  with  him  in  speculation ;  she  had  lost 
all,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  care  for  her  and  her 
children.  As  for  the  living  during  the  year, 
they  had  taken  them  as  visitors  ;  were  glad  to 
have  them,  arid  would  take  them  again  will 
ingly. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  2j7 

Captain  Sleeper  was  determined,  and  Captain 
Thompson  obstinate ;  and  they  came  to  pretty 
high  words,  and  parted,  vowing  they  would 
never  speak  to  each  other  again.  Becky  tried 
to  reconcile  them,  and  at  last  made  them  agree 
to  leave  the  matter  to  a  referee  for  settlement, 
she  to  name  the  party.  To  their  surprise,  she 
named  Aunt  Hulda.  That  distinguished  charac 
ter  immediately  locked  herself  in  her  room,  — 
for  she  had  an  apartment  in  the  new  house. 

For  a  week  she  worked  at  accounts,  partly 
drawn  from  her  wise  old  head.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  she  called  the  two  captains  before  her, 
and  placed  in  their  hands  a  long  bill.  "  Cap 
tain  Sleeper  debtor  to  Captain  Thompson,"  in 
which  every  item  of  provisions  and  clothing, 
that  Captain  Thompson  had  paid  for,  figured, 
and  the  sum  total  of  which  amounted  to  seven 
hundred  dollars,  which  Captain  Sleeper  must 
pay.  Captain  Sleeper  wrote  a  check,  payable  to 
the  order  of  Captain  Thompson,  for  one  thou 
sand  dollars  —  he  wouldn't  pay  a  cent  less. 
Captain  Thompson  took  the  check,  without  a 
word,  wrote  across  the  back  of  it,  "  Pay  to 
Hulda  Prime,"  and  handed  it  to  the  astonished 
woman. 


238  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  That's  the  fee  for  your  'work.  Now  don't 
let's  hear  any  more  about  a  settlement." 

The  two  captains  shook  hands ;  Becky  hugged 
Aunt  Hulda,  and  told  her  they  had  served  her 
just  right.  The  spinster  tried  to  speak,  but 
couldn't,  for  her  tears.  The  matter  was  satis 
factorily  settled  forever,  and  the  hitherto  penni 
less  referee  found  herself  no  penniless  bride,  when 
the  new  mill  being  in  successful  operation,  Mark 
Small  took  her  to  a  home  of  her  own,  and  the 
romantic  episode  in  the  life  of  an  old  maid 
became  one  of  the  chronicles  of  Cleverly. 

Teddy  Sleeper,  by  mutual  consent  of  the  two 
captains,  was  regularly  apprenticed  to  the  trade 
of  ship  carpentering  —  an  occupation  which  soon 
reduced  his  weight,  enlarged  his  muscles,  and 
increased  his  appetite.  Hard  work  dissipated 
his  once  sluggish  disposition ;  a  love  for  his  trade 
aroused  ambition ;  and  Captain  Thompson  had 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  his  protege  would  in 
time  become  a  successful  ship-builder. 

Harry  Thompson  entered  the  office  of  Squire 
Alden,  to  study  law,  to  the  delight  of  his  father, 
and  took  to  work  so  earnestly  that  the  schem 
ing  captain  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  risk 
another  rupture  by  opening  his  batteries  for  the 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  239 

purpose  of  defeating  the  alliance  which  he  had 
many  reasons  for  believing  was  at  some  future 
time  to  be  completed  between  his  son  and  Alice 
Parks. 

TAVO  years  after  the  death  of  her  mother  found 
Becky  Sleeper  mistress  of  her  father's  home, 
with  unlimited  means  at  her  command,  yet  care 
ful  and  prudent  in  its  management,  relying  upon 
her  tried  friends  —  Aunt  Hulda  and  Mrs.  Thom 
son  —  for  advice ;  always  cheerful,  yet  ever  earn 
est,  doing  her  best  for  the  comfort  of  all  about 
her,  moving  easily  in  her  exalted  sphere,  with 
all  the  roughness  of  her  tomboy  days  quite  worn 
away,  and  the  graces  of  gentle,  cultivated  woman 
hood  shining  all  about  her. 

Cleverly  folks  were  prouder  of  the  young 
housekeeper  than  they  had  been  of  the  brave 
girl.  Captain  Sleeper  was  a  social  man,  and 
would  have  a  lively  house,  and  many  and  brilliant 
were  the  gatherings  over  which  Becky  presided. 
Yet  she  liked  the  neighborly  company  of  Cap 
tain  Thompson,  or  Aunt  Rebecca,  or  Harry  best 
of  all.  The  latter  made  himself  quite  at  home 
there,  and  of  course  Cleverly  people  talked  about 
it,  and  made  a  match  at  once. 

Yet  the  young  people  spoken  of    hardly  acted 


240  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

like  lovers.  They  were  not  in  the  habit  of 
secreting  themselves  among  the  window 'curtains, 
or  wandering  down  the  walks  hand  in  hand,  or 
conversing  in  that  mysterious  language  of  the 
eyes  so  tender  and  significant.  And  so  at  last 
the  good  people  believed  themselves  mistaken, 
and  the  wife-seeking  young  fellows  of  the  neigh 
borhood  took  courage,  and  laid  seige  to  the 
richly-endowered  heart  of  Miss  Becky  Sleeper. 

One  of  the  number  —  Herbert  Arnold,  son  of 
the  pastor,  a  slim,  delicate  young  man — 'became 
a  frequent  visitor,  and  threw  longing  glances 
through  the  glasses  of  his  gold-rimmed  specta 
cles,  and  paid  much  attention  to  Aunt  Hulda, 
whose  pies  were  his  exceeding  delight,  and 
listened  to  the  captain's  long  yarns  without  a 
yawn,  and  went  away  firmly  convinced  he  was 
making  an  impression  upon  the  heart  of  Becky. 
But  the  young  lady  shut  the  door  after  him, 
with  a  smile,  and  turned  away,  to  dream  of 
somebody  else. 

The  last  rays  of  an  October  sun  were  decking 
the  broad  piazza  of  the  house  with  a  golden 
glow.  It  had  been  a  busy  day  with  Becky,  and, 
a  little  weary,  she  threw  open  the  door,  to 
breathe  the  air,  after  her  long  season  of  labor. 


HARRY  WRITES  IN  THE  SAND.     Page  243. 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  241 

Sitting  on  the  steps,  tracing  in  the  sand  before 
him  with  a  cane,  was  Harry  Thompson,  evidently 
busy  with  some  problem.  With  a  smile,  she 
cautiously  slipped  behind  him,  and  looked  at  his 
work.  No  difficult  problem  tasked  his  cane ; 
only  a  name  written  in  the  sand — "Becky 
Sleeper."  She  started  back,  and  a  flush  deeper 
than  the  sun  could  paint  overspread  her  face. 

"Why,  Harry!  you  here?" 

The  name  quickly  disappeared  from  the  sands, 
and  a  flushed  face  turned  towards  her. 

"  Yes  —  O,  yes  — how  do  you  do  ?  Nice  even 
ing —  isn't  it?"  answered  Harry,  hurriedly. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing 
there?  Why  don't  you  come  in?" 

"Thank  you;  not  just  now.  I'm  very  busy 
thinking." 

"  Indeed !  Then  perhaps  I'd  better  retire.  I 
wouldn'd  for  the  world  interrupt  your  new  occu 
pation,"  said  Becky ;  and  a  merry  laugh  rippled 
on  her  lips. 

"  That's  right ;  laugh,  Becky.  It's  an  old 
occupation,  that,  very  becoming  to  you,"  returned 
Harry.  "  It  reminds  me  of  the  days  when  we 
were  both  so  young  and  innocent,  Ah,  those 
good  old  days !  We  were  great  friends  then, 
Becky." 


242  RUNNING  TO   WASTE. 

"  I  hope  we  are  good  friends  now,  Harry." 

"  Of  course  we  are.  But  now  you  are  quite  a 
woman,  full  of  cares ;  yet  a  brave,  good,  noble 
little  woman,  rich  and  courted." 

"  Thanks  to  those  who  trained  the  vine  once 
running  to  waste,  flatterer.  What  I  am  I  owe 
to  those  who  loved  me ;  what  I  might  have 
been  without  their  aid,  not  all  the  riches  in  the 
world  could  have  prevented." 

"  True,  Becky.  By  the  by,  I  have  a  letter 
from  an  old  friend  will  interest  you.  Oh  such 
startling  news  ?" 

Becky  colored,  yet  compressed  her  lips  reso 
lutely.  Always  that  old  friend. 

"From  Alice  Parks?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  from  Alice  Parks.  You  know  what  an 
interest  I  take  in  that  young  lady's  welfare, 
and  you  shall  share  in  my  delight.  Look  at 
that." 

"  He  handed  her  a  letter ;  she  took  it  with  a 
pang  of  uneasiness ;  mechanically  unfolded  it. 
There  dropped  from  it  two  cards,  fastened  with 
white  ribbon.  Harry  picked  up  the  cards  and 
handed  them  to  her,  She  glanced  at  them. 

"  O,  Harry!  she's  married!" 

"  Certainly.      Mr.  George  Woodfern  and  Miss 


RUNNING  TO   WASTE.  243 

Alice  Parks,  after  a  long  and  patient  courtship, 
have  united  their  destinies.  The  designing  young 
woman  having  engraved  herself  upon  the  heart 
of  the  young  engraver,  the  new  firm  is  ready 
for  business." 

"  O,  Harry,  I'm  so  sorry!"  faltered   Becky. 

"  Sorry  ?  for  what,  pray  ?  They'll  be  very 
happy." 

"  Sorry  for  you,  Harry.  They  will  be  happy ; 
but  you  —  you  — you  loved  her  so  dearly  —  didn't 
you?" 

"Sorry  for  me?  Well,  I  like  that!"  And 
Harry  indorsed  his  liking  with  a  hearty  laugh. 
"Loved  her?  Why,  Becky,  what  put  that  into 
your  head  ?  " 

Becky  was  confused.  She  thought  of  the 
uneasiness  she  had  caused  Captain  Thompson  by 
her  suspicions,  to  say  nothing  of  the  uneasiness 
she  had  caused  herself. 

"  Why,  Harry,  you  wrote  to  her,  and  she 
wrote  to  you  ;  and  I  told  your  father  that  I 
thought  you  were  engaged." 

"  Indeed!  that  accounts  for  the  old  gentleman's 
fidgets  when  I  received  a  letter.  No,  Becky,  I 
admired,  and  do  admire,  that  young  lady;  but 
love  her  !  make  her  my  wife !  I  never  had  the 


244  RUNNING  TO  WASTE. 

least  idea  of    it.       My    heart    is    engaged    else 
where. 

"  Indeed !     I  never  heard  of  it." 

"That's  my  misfortune,  then.  I  have  always 
loved  a  dear  old  playmate,  one  whom  I  have 
watched  grow  into  a  strong  and  beautiful  woman  ; 
whom  I  would  not  wrong  with  the  offer  of  my 
hand  until  I  had  fully  proved  my  power  to  win 
my  way  in  the  world.  Do  you  know  her, 
Becky?" 

He  still  sat  there,  looking  up  into  her  face, 
with  eyes  so  full  of  strong  and  tender  love,  that 
Becky  was  almost  sure  she  saw  her  own  image 
mirrored  there ;  and  her  heart  beat  wildly. 

"  Becky,  must  I  say  more?  " 

"  He  looked  at  her  mischievously  ;  then  turned 
and  traced  upon  the  sands  the  name  again  — 
"  Becky  Sleeper." 

"  O,  Harry,  Harry  !  I'm  so  glad,  so  glad ! " 

She  sank  down  by  his  side  ;  his  arm  was  about 
her,  and  her  head  was  on  his  breast.  Very  much 
like  lovers,  now.  So  thought  Mrs.  Thompson, 
as  she  stepped  inside  the  gate  ;  so  thought  two 
old  fellows,  who  just  then  came  from  the  barn 
towards  them. 

"Look  there,  Cyrus,  old  boy;  there's  poach 
ing  on  your  ground." 


RUNNING  TO  WASTE.  245 

"All  right,  Paul — if  my  dove  must  go.  It 
will  be  tenderly  nurtured  there." 

And  so,  in  due  time,  the  "  Tomboy "  became 
a  lovely  bride ;  and  the  name  Harry  Thompson 
had  shaped  upon  the  sand,  was  written  in, the 
old  family  Bible ;  and  another  generation  of 
Thompsons  sported  in  the  orchard,  and  plucked 
fruit  from  the  old  tree  where  Becky  Sleeper  had 
long  ago  been  found  Running  to  Waste. 


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"  It  is  designed  as  a  guide  to  teachers  of  girls;  but  it  will  be  found  of 
use,  also,  to  such  as  wish  to  practise  the  exercises  at  home."  —  New  -  York 
World. 

LOOK    OUT     FOR     SQUALLS. 

PRACTICAL  BOAT-SAILING.    By  DOUGLAS  FRAZAR.    Clas 
sic  size.     $1.00.     With  numerous  diagrams  and  illustrations. 
"  Its  directions  are  so  plain,  that,  with  the  aid  of  the  accompanying 
pictorial  illustrations  and  diagrams  given  in  the  book,  it  does  seem  as  if 
'  anybody,'  after  reading  it,  could  safely  handle  a  sailboat  in  a  squall."  — 
Time*,  Hartford. 

"A    HELPFUL     LITTLE     BOOK."-  Springfield  Rrpubli  can. 

HANDBOOK  OF  WOOD-ENGRAVING.  With  Practical 
Instructions  in  the  Art  for  Persons  wishing  to  learn  without  an 
Instructor.  By  WILLIAM  A.  EMERSON,  Wood-Engraver.  New 
Edition.  Illustrated.  $1.00. 

"  A  valuable  handbook,  explanatory  of  an  art  which  is  gradually 
attracting  the  attention  of  amateurs  more  and  more,  and  which  affords, 
not  only  a  pleasing  pastime,  but  au  excellent  means  of  procuring  a  liveli 
hood." —  Cleveland  Sun. 

"A    LITERARY    TIDBIT." 

SHORT' STUDIES  OF  AMERICAN  AUTHORS.    By 

THOMAS  WENTWOKTH  BIGGIN  HON.    50  cents. 

"  These  '  Studies  '  are  rather  those  of  the  characters  themselves  than 
of  their  works,  and,  written  in  Mr.  Higginson's  best  analytical  style,  h'll 
up  a  leisure  hour  charmingly."  —  Toledo  Journal. 

"NO  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  CAPABLE  OF  DOING  BETTER  SERVICE." 

HANDBOOK   OF  ELOCUTION   SIMPLIFIED.    By  WAL 
TER   K.  FOBES,  with  an  Introduction   by   GEORGE   M.  BAKER. 
Cloth.    50  cents. 
"  This  valuable  little  book  occupies  a  place  heretofore  left  vacant,  as  a 

digest  of  elocution  that  is  both  practical  and  methodical,  and   low  in 

price."  —  New-  York  Tribune. 


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LEE  AND  SHEPARD'S  BOOKS  OF  TRAVEL. 


LIFE  AT  PUGET  SOUND.  With  sketches  of  travel  in  Wash 
ingtun  Territory,  British  Columbia,  Oregon,  and  Califoruia.  By 

CAROLINE    C.    Ll'JH.HTON.       KillH).     'Cloth.      $1.5U. 

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interesting,  and  with  just  that  class  of  facts,  and  suggestions  of  truth, 

thai   cannot  fail  to    help    the    Indian  and  the  Chinese."  —  WENDELL 

PHILLIPS. 

EUROPEAN  BREEZES.  By  MARGERY  DEANE.  Cloth.  Gil; 
top.  $1.50.  Being  chapters  of  travel  through  Germany,  Austria, 
Hungary,  and  Switzerland,  covering  places  not  usually  visited  by 
Americans  in  making  "  The  Grand  Tour  of  the  Continent,"  by  the 
accomplished  writer  of  "Newport  Breezes." 
"  A  very  blight,  fresh,  and  amusing  account,  which  tells  us  about  a  host 

of  things  we  never  heard  of  before,  and  is  worth  two  ordinary  books  on 

European  travel."  —  Woman' is  Journul. 

AN  AMERICAN   GIRL  ABROAD.    By  Miss  ADELINE  TRAP- 
TON,  author  of  "  His  Inheritance,"  "  Katherine  Earle,"  etc.    16mo. 
Illustrated.     $1.50. 
"  A  sparkling  account  of  a  European  trip  by  a  wide-awake,  intelligent, 

and  irrepressible  American  girl.     Pictured  with  a  freshness  and  vivacity 

that  is  delightful."—  Utica  Observer. 

BEATEN  PATHS  ;  or,  A  Woman's  Vacation  in  Europe. 

By  ELLA  W.  THOMPSON.     IGmo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 

A  lively  and  chatty  book  of  travel,  with  pen-pictures  humorous  and 
graphic,  that  are  decidedly  out  of  the  "  beaten  paths  "of  description. 

A  SUMMER  IN  THE  AZORES,  with  a  Glimpse  of  Ma 
deira.  By  Miss  C.  ALICE  BAKER.  Little  Classic  style.  Cloth. 
Gilt  edges.  $1.25. 

"  Miss  Baker  gives  us  a  breezy,  entertaining  description  of  these  pic 
turesque  islands.  She  is  an  observing  traveler,  and  makes  a  graphic 
picture  of  the  quaint  people  and  customs." —  Chicago  Advance. 

ENGLAND    FROM   A  BACK  WINDOW ;  With  Views 
of  Scotland   and  Ireland.    By  J.  M.  BAILEY,  the  "  'Dan- 
bury  News'  Man."     Cloth,  $1.00.    Paper,  50  cents. 
"  The  peculiar  humor  of  this  writer  is  well  known.     The  British   Isles 
have  never  before  been  looked  at  in  just  the  same  way,  — at  least,  not  by 
any  one  who  has  notified  us  of  the  fact.    Mr.  Bailey's  travels  possess, 
accordingly,  a  value  of  their  own  for  the  reader,  no  matter  how  many 
previous  records  of  journeys  in  the  mother  country  he  may  have  read." 
—  Hoc h enter  ErpresK. 

OVER  THE  OCEAN;  or,  Sights  and  Scenes  in  Foreign 
Lands.  By  CURTIS  GUILD,  editor  of  "The  Boston  Commer 
cial  Bulletin."  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  $2.50. 

"The  utmost  that  any  European  tourist  can  hope  to  do  is  to  tell  the 
old  story  in  a  somewhat  fresh  way,  and  Mr.  Guild  has  succeeded  in 
every  part  of  his  book  in  doing  this."  —  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

ABROAD  AGAIN;  or,  Fresh  Forays  in  Foreign  Fields. 
Uniform  with  "Over  the  Ocean."  By  the  same  author.  Crown 
8vo.  Cloth,  $2.50. 

"  Tie  has  given  us  a  life-picture.  Europe  is  done  in  a  style  that  must 
serve  as  an  invaluable  guide  to  those  who  go  '  over  the  ocean,'  as  well  aa 
an  interesting  companion."  —  Halifax  Citizen. 


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LEE  AND  SHEPARD'S  BOOKS  OF  TRAVEL. 


GERMANY  SEEN  WITHOUT  SPECTACLES;  or,  Ran 
dom  Sketches  of  Various  Subjects,  Penned  from 
Different  Stand-points  in  the  Empire.  By  HENUY 
RUGGLES,  late  U.  S.  Consul  at  the  Island  of  Malta,  a;;d  at  Barce- 
loua,  Spain.  $1.50. 

"  Mr.  Ruggles  write8  briskly  :  he  chats  and  gossips,  slashing  right  and 
left  with  stout  American  prejudices,  a -.id  has  made  withal  a  most  enter 
taining  book."  —  New  -  \'o'i -k,  !'r,bu>it. 

TRAVELS    AND    OBSERVATIONS  IN  THE  ORIENT, 

with  a  Hasty  Flight  in  the  Countries  of  Europe. 

By  WALTER  HARRIMAN  (ex-Governor  of  New  Hampshire).  $1.50. 

"  The  author,  in  his  graphic  description  of  these  sacred  localities,  refers 

with  great  aptness  to  scenes  and  personages  which  history  has  made 

famous.    It  is  a  chatty  narrative  of  travel,  tinged  throughout  with  a  veiy 

natural  and  pleasant  color  of  personality."  —  Concord  Monitor. 

FORE  AND  AFT.    A  Story  of  Actual  Sea-Life.    By  ROBERT  B. 

DIXON,  M.D.    $1.2.'). 

Travels  in  Mexico,  with  vivid  descriptions  of  manners  and  customs, 
form  a  large  part  of  this  striking  narrative  of  a  fourteeu-months'  voyage. 

VOYAGE  OF  THE  PAPER  CANOE.  A  geographical  Jour 
ney  of  Twenty-five  Hundred  Miles  from  Quebec  to  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  By  NATHANIEL  H.  BISHOP.  With  numerous  illustra 
tions  and  maps  specially  prepared  for  this  work.  Crown  8\o. 
$2.50. 
"  Mr.  Bishop  did  a  very  bold  thing,  and  has  described  it  with  a  happy 

mixture  of  spirit,  keen  observation,  and  bonhomie." — London  Graphic. 

FOUR  MONTHS  IN  A  SNEAK-BOX.     A  Boat- Voyage  of 

Twenty-six  Hundred  Miles  down  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  Rivers, 

and  along  the  Gulf   of  Mexico.      By  NATHANIEL   H.  BISHOP. 

With  numerous  maps  and  illustrations.     $2.50. 

"  His  glowing  pen-pictures  of  '  shanty-boat '  life  on  the  great  rivers  are 

true  to  life.    His  descriptions  of  persons  and  places  are  graphic."  — 

Z ion's  Herald. 

A  THOUSAND  MILES'  WALK  ACROSS  SOUTH 
AMERICA,  Over  the  Pampas  and  the  Andes.  By 
NATHANIEL  11.  BISHOP.  Crown  8vo.  New  Edition.  Illustrated. 
$1.50. 

"  Mr.  Bishop  made  this  journey  when  a  boy  of  sixteen,  has  never  for 
gotten  it,  and  tells  it  in  such  a  way  that  the  reader  will  always  remember 
it,  and  wish  there  had  been  more." 

CAMPS  IN  THE  CARIBBEES.     Being  the  Adventures  of  » 
Naturalist  Bird-Hunting  in  the  West-India  Islands.     By  FRED  A. 
OBER.    Crown  8vo.    With  maps  and  illustrations.    $2.50. 
During  two  years  he  visited  mountains,  forests,  and  people  that  few, 

if  any,  tourists  had  ever  reached  before.    He  carried  his  camera  with 

him,  and  photographed  from  nature  the  scenes  by  which  the  book  is 

Illustrated."  —  Louisville  Courier-Journal. 


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SOPHIE  MAY'S  "GROWN-UP"  BOOKS. 


Uniform  Binding.    All  Handsomely  Illustrated.    $1.50. 


JANET,   A   POOR   HEIRESS. 

"  The  heroine  of  thin  story  is  a  true  girl.  An  imperious,  fault-finding, 
unappreciative  father  alienates  her  love,  and  nearly  ruins  her  temper. 
The  mother  knows  the  father  is  at  fault,  but  does  not  dare  to  say  so. 
Then  comes  a  discovery,  that  she  is  only  an  adopted  daughter;  a  for 
saking  of  the  old  home;  a  life  of  strange  vicissitudes;  a  return;  a  mar 
riage  under  difficulties;  and  a  discovery,  that,  after  all,  she  is  an  heiress. 
The  story  is  certainly  a  very  attractive  one." —  Chicago  Interior. 

THE    DOCTOR'S    DAUGHTER. 

"  Sophie  May,  author  of  the  renowned  Prudy  and  Dotty  books,  has 
achieved  another  triumph  in  the  new  book  with  this  title  just  issued, 
iShe  has  taken  'a  new  departure'  this  time,  and  written  a  new  story  for 
grown-up  folks.  If  we  are  not  much  mistaken,  the  young  folks  will 
want  to  read  it,  as  much  as  the  old  folks  want  to  read  the  books  written 
for  the  young  ones.  It  is  a  splendid  story  for  all  ages."  —  Lynn  Semi- 
Wetkly  Recorder. 

THE    A33URY    TWINS. 

"The  announcement  of  another  work  by  this  charming  and  popular 
writer  will  be  heartily  welcomed  by  the  public.  And  in  this  sensible, 
fascinating  story  of  the  twin -sisters,  '  Vic'  and  '  Van,'  they  have  before 
them  a  genuine  treat.  Vic  writes  her  story  in  one  chapter,  and  Van  in 
the  next,  and  so  on  through  the  book.  Van  is  frank,  honest,  and  practi 
cal;  Vic  wild,  venturesome,  and  witty;  and  both  of  them  natural  and 
\viuning.  At  home  or  abroad,  they  are  true  to  their  individuality,  and 
see  things  with  their  own  eyes.  It  is  a  fresh,  delightful  volume,  well 
worthy  of  its  gifted  author."  —  Boston  Contributor. 

OUR    H3LEN. 

"'Our  Helen  '  is  Sophie  May's  latest  creation;  and  she  is  a  bright, 
brave  girl,  that  the  young  people  will  all  like.  We  are  pleased  to  meet 
with  some  old  friends  in  the  book.  It  is  a  good  companion-book  for  the 
•Doctor's  Daughter,' and  the  two  should  go  together.  Queer  old  Mrs. 
O'Neil  still  lives,  to  indulge  in  the  reminiscences  of  the  young  men  of 
Machius;  and  other  Quinuebasset  people  with  familiar  names  occasionally 
appear,  along  with  new  ones  who  are  worth  knowing.  '  Our  Helen  '  is  a 
noble  and  unselfish  giri,  but  with  a  mind  and  will  of  her  own;  and  the 
contract  between  her  and  pretty,  fascinating,  selfish  little  Sharley,  is  very 
finely  drawu.  Lee  &  Shepard  publish  it."  —  Uolyokt  Transcript. 

QUINNEBASSET    GIRLS. 

''The  story  is  a  very  attractive  one,  as  free  from  the  sensational  and 
impossible  as  could  be  desired,  and  at  the  same  time  full  of  interest,  and 
pervaded  by  the  same  bright,  cheery  sunshine  that  we  find  in  the  author's 
earlier  books.  She  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  success  of  her  essay  iu 
a  new  field  of  literature,  to  which  she  will  be  warmly  welcomed  by  those 
who  know  and  admire  her  '  Prudy  Books.'  " 


Sold  by  all  booksellers  and  netvvrlealerx,  and  sent  by  mail,  postpaid, 
on   receipt  of  price. 

LEE  &  SHEPARD,  Publishers,  Boston. 


TROPHIES   OF  TRAVEL. 


DRIFTING  ROUND  THE  WORLD  ;  A  Boy's  Adven 
tures  by  Sea  and  Land.  By  CAPT.  CHARLES  W.  HALL, 
author  of  "  Adrift  in  the  Ice-Fields,"  "  The  Great  Bonanza,"  etc. 
With  numerous  full-page  and  letter-press  illustrations.  Royal  8vo. 
Handsome  cover.  $1.75.  Cloth.  Gilt.  $2.50. 

"  Out  of  the  beaten  track  "  in  its  course  of  travel,  record  of  adventures, 
and  descriptions  of  life  in  Greenland,  Labrador,  Ireland,  Scotland,  Eng 
land,  France,  Holland,  Russia,  Asia,  Siberia,  and  Alaska.  Its  hero  is 
young,  bold,  and  adventurous;  and  the  book  is  iu  every  way  interesting 
and  attractive. 

EDWARD  GREEY'S  JAPANESE   SERIES. 

YOUNG  AMERICANS  IN  JAPAN  ;  or,  The  Adventures 
of  the  Jewett  Family  and  their  Friend  Oto  Nambo. 
With  170  full-page  and  letter-press  illustrations.  Royal  Svo,  7  x  !>j 
inches.  Handsomely  illuminated  cover.  $1.75.  Cloth,  black  a.ul 
gold,  $2.50. 

This  story,  though  essentially  a  work  of  fiction,  is  filled  with  intent-t 
ing  and  truthful  descriptions  of  the  curious  ways  of  living  of  the  good 
people  of  the  land  of  the  rising  sun. 

THE  WONDERFUL  CITY  OF  TOKIO ;  or,  The  Fur 
ther  Adventures  of  the  Jewett  Family  and  their 
Friend  OtO  NambO-  With  169  illustrations.  Royal  Svo, 
7x9^  inches.  With  cover  in  gold  and  colors,  designed  by  the 
author.  $1.75.  Cloth,  black  and  gold,  $2.50. 

"A  book  full  of  delightful  information.    The  author  has   the  happy 
gift  of  permitting  the  reader  to  view  things  as  he  saw  them.     The  illus 
trations  are  mostly  drawn  by  a  Japanese  artist,  and  are  very  unique.  "  - 
Chicago  Herald. 

THE    BEAR    WORSHIPPERS    OF    YEZO    AND     THE 
ISLAND  OF  KARAFUTO ;  being-  the  further  Ad 
ventures  of  the  Jewett  Family  and  their  Friend 
Oto   Nambo.    180  illustrations.    Boards.    $1.75.    Cloth,  $2.50. 
Graphic  pen  and  pencil  pictures  of  the  remarkable  bearded  people  who 

live  in  the  north  of  Japan.     The  illustrations  are   by  native  Japanese 

artists,  and  give  queer  pictures  of  a  queer  people,  who  have  been  seldom 

visited. 

HARRY  W.   FRENCH'S   BOOKS. 

OUR  BOYS  IN  INDIA.  The  wanderings  of  two  young  Americans 
iu  Hindustan,  with  their  exciting  adventures  on  the  sacred  rivers 
and  wild  mountains.  With  145  illustrations.  Royal  Svo,  7  x  Oi 
inches.  Bound  in  emblematic  covers  of  Oriental  design,  $1.75. 
Cloth,  black  and  gold,  $2.50. 
While  it  has  all  the  exciting  interest  of  a  romance,  it  is  remarkably 

vivid  in  its  pictures  of  manners  and  customs  in  the  land  of  the  Hindu. 

The  illustrations  are  many  and  excellent. 

OUR  BOYS  IN  CHINA.  The  adventures  of  two  young  Ameri 
cans,  wrecked  in  the  China  Sea  on  their  return  from  India,  with 
their  strange  wanderings  through  the  Chinese  Empire.  188  illus 
trations.  Boards,  ornamental  covers  in  colors  and  gold.  $1.75. 
Cloth,  $2.50. 
This  gives  the  further  adventures  of  "  Our  Boys"  of  India  fame  in  the 

land  of  Teas  and  Queues. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers,  and  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  pri<  e. 

LEE   &,  SHEPAHD,  Publishers,  Boston. 


BY  REV.  P.  C.  HEADLEY. 


SIX  VOLUMES.    ILLUSTRATED.    PER  VOL.  81.25. 


FIGHT  IT  OUT  ON  THIS  LINE.     The  Life  and  Deed. 
of  General  U.  S.  Grant. 

A  life  of  the  great  Union  General  from  his  boyhood,  written  for  boys.  Full 
of  anecdotes  and  illustrations,  and  including  his  famous  trip  around  the  world. 

FACING  THE  ENEMY.     The  Life  and  Military  Career 
of  General  William  Tecumseh  Sherman. 

The  Glorious  March  to  the  Sea  by  the  brave  Sherman  and  his  boys  will  never 
be  forgotten.  This  is  a  graphic  story  of  his  career  from  boyhood. 

FIGHTING    PHIL.      The    Life    and   Military    Career   of 
Lieut-Gen.  Philip  Henry  Sheridan. 

The  story  of  the  dashing  Cavalry  General  of  the  army  of  the  United  State«. 
—  A  righting  Irishman.  —  Full  of  pluck  and  patriotism  for  his  adopted  country- 
The  book  is  full  of  adventure. 

OLD  SALAMANDER.     The   Life   and   Naval   Career  of 
Admiral  David  Glascoe  Farragut. 

The  Naval  History  of  the  great  civil  war  is  exceedingly  interesting,  and  th« 
life  of  Admiral  Farragut  is  rich  in  brave  deeds  and  heroic  example. 

THE  MINER  BOY  AND  HIS  MONITOR.      The    Car 
eer  and  Achievements  of  John  Ericsson,  Engineer. 

One  of  the  most  thrilling  incidents  of  the  war  was  the  sudden  appearance  of 
the  Little  Monitor  in  Hampton  Roads  to  beat  back  the  Merrimac.  The  life  of  the 
inventor  is  crowded  with  his  wonderful  inventions,  and  the  story  of  his  boyhood  in 
the  coal  mines  of  Sweden  is  particularly  interesting. 

OLD  STARS.     The  Life  and  Military  Career  of  Major- 
Gen.  Ormsby  McKnight  Mitchel. 

"  Old  Stars  "  was  the  pet  name  given  the  brave  general  by  his  soldiers,  who 
remembered  his  career  as  an  astronomer  before  he  became  a  soldier.  His  story  is 
full  of  stirring  events  and  heroic  deeds. 

4S~  Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price. 


LBBJ  AND  SHBPARD,  Publishers,  Boston. 


YOUNG  AMERICA  ABROAD. 

BY  OLIVER  OPTIC. 


A  Library  of  Travel  and  Adventure  in  Foreign  Lands.  First 
and  Second  Series ;  six  volumes  in  each  Series.  i6mo. 
Illustrated. 

First  Series. 
I.  OUTWARD  BOUND ;  OR, YOUNG  AMERICA  AFLOAT. 

II.  SHAMROCK  AND  THISTLE;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA 
IN  IRELAND  AND  SCOTLAND. 

III.  RED   CROSS;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA  IN  ENGLAND  AND 

WALES. 

IV.  DIKES  AND  DITCHES;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA  IN 

HOLLAND  AND  BELGIUM. 

V.  PALACE   AND    COTTAGE;    OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA 
IN  FRANCE  AND  SWITZERLAND. 

VI.  DOWN    THE   RHINE;    OR,    YOUNG    AMERICA    IN 
GERMANY. 


Second  Series. 

I.  UP  THE  BALTIC;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA   IN  NOR 
WAY,  SWEDEN,  AND  DENMARK. 

II.  NORTHERN   LANDS ;    OR,    YOUNG    AMERICA    IN 
RUSSIA  AND  PRUSSIA. 

III.  CROSS  AND    CRESCENT ;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA 

IN  TURKEY  AND  GREECE. 

IV.  SUNNT  SHORES ;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA  IN  ITALY 

AND  AUSTRIA. 

V.   VINE  AND  OLIVE;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA  IN  SPAIN 
AND  PORTUGAL.     In  preparation. 

VI.  ISLES  OF  THE  SEA  ;  OR,  YOUNG  AMERICA  HOME 
WARD  BOUND.     In  preparation. 


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